That Awkward Moment When 2
by gurj14
Summary: Sequel to That Awkward Moment When. AU-Brittana.
1. Prologue

_**A/N:** _Okay. This is the prologue, just the prologue. I hope you like it?

_**Disclaimer:** _I do not own Glee/characters, just lots of accumulated thoughts…

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><p><strong>That Awkward Moment When 2<strong>

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><p><em><strong>Three months ago, Amsterdam….<strong>_

Will Smith's 'Miami' was shaking the DJ's speakers and everyone's eardrums, but Santana was too busy getting the mouth-to-mouth (also known as kissing) plus some 'betcha wants my body' tongue from Brittany to give a shit that her ears would ache the next day. Brittany was making her see stars with her eyes closed… Or that could have been the gay nightclub's strobe lights, but whatever. This kiss was the bomb, so much so that her eyelids couldn't even detain that shit.

"I'm disappointed with the lack of Dutch music in here," Brittany's mouth says, no longer on her mouth.

"Yeah totally," Santana mumbles dazedly before going back in for a taste of those insanely addictive lips. She opens her mouth more and tilts her head, pulling Brittany in even closer by the hips while Brittany's hands cup along her jaw and neck with firm grip.

Honeymoon Rule #1: Get your mack on

"Wait," Brittany backs off again, clearly knowing very well how much she was torturing Santana with these intervals (since she was smirking all evil), "we should go back to our hotel first. It's starting to smell in here."

"But-" Santana's protest was cut off as a dancing body (that did indeed smell) whacked her in the back and propelled her further into Brittany's body. "Okay, fine. Let's go."

Honeymoon Rule #2: Seclusion to get your mack on (preferably somewhere with pleasant smells)

She turns around and maneuvers her way off the dance floor, with Brittany's hands firmly on her shoulders to follow her out (and give her body the occasional direction-shove) to grab their coats from coat-check and stumble onto the street and away from the gay festivities of a gay Dutch nightclub.

They start walking in the direction of their hotel, which is only five minutes away but on this chilly night five minutes too far (in Santana's sexy high-heeled opinion – these boots were _not_ made for walking), ignoring people on the street that tried to single out tourists and try to sell stuff.

"Actually, before we uh… I wanted to talk to you about something?" Brittany asks her hopefully, failing to sound confident about this request.

Santana side-eyes Brittany curiously – there are not many things Brittany has ever talked about with such timid-ness. Especially not these days when they had been together long enough to skip a lot of the tiptoeing and speak with the art of bluntness.

Even sex is like that, now. Like: _You want to do it or just snuggle tonight? _They are extremely good at communicating with one another. They even have hand signals.

"You've been very thoughtful today, since we FaceTimed your parents," she says cautiously, trying to fish Brittany to talk about whatever she wants to talk about.

"Right. And… that's what I want to talk about," Brittany says, even more softly.

It barely reaches Santana's ears, and it alerts her into understanding Brittany's _really_ anxious about this 'topic.'

Santana stares harder at Brittany, trying to figure out her reticence before looping their arms together for warmth and encouragement as they continue walking, "talk about what? You miss everyone? Your parents, your cat, your sis… in that order?"

Brittany laughs and speaks with her usual confidence this time, "not really, I've been having way too much fun with you to miss them. You missing anyone?"

"Sepp, a little," Santana confesses. "I mean, I'm having the time of my life with you but he's stuck in that boarding school so I feel bad about it. I thought it was a good fit but he told me in an e-mail that he doesn't like his Math teacher."

"That's just one teacher, though, he likes all the other teachers so don't sweat it. Plus, Mom and Dad are looking out for him… and Gracie, too. I hear he plays a lot of videogames in his room, so I think he's having a blast." Brittany says to her with a leaning-in shoulder bump. "And I won' be mad if you want to let in how much you miss work. I saw you buy that history of law book in England."

"It had a nice leather bound and would make for a cool office decoration! Okay fine, I miss work a _little_, you know how much I like using my superior mind to fight for someone's rights or to just win and be the best. But… I also wouldn't be opposed to another destination? I'm having way too much fun with you, too." Her offer is left hanging with a sly kiss to Brittany's jacket's shoulder (it was a really soft jacket, okay, she likes to nuzzle it some) as they wait for the crosswalk light. It makes Brittany giggle before they start to cross the street.

"So Lopez the Explorers is officially on," Brittany says with a serious nod.

She's referring to the fact that their honeymoon was supposed to be two weeks in Europe… Three months ago. Brittany changed that, though.

Since Brittany didn't want their honeymoon to end she convinced Santana to extend the initial Greece stay to other parts of Europe. Three months in Europe was coming to an end now, with this Amsterdam weekend. They hadn't bought tickets home yet because they talked about going to Asia or South America next instead. Both of them didn't want it to end just yet, and Santana could see them easily squeeze another month together.

"I want to go to Peru," Brittany looks back at her. "But first Hong Kong. Maybe even India. Oh! You wanted to go to Tokyo."

Or two months.

"Damn it, we just need to make a list and do it all," Santana says with excitement – this traveling bug was a lot of fun and she's never been much of a traveler before but now she's married, has money in the bank, and a wife who is the best companion and encourages her to explore. She was totally fine with continuing to see the world through Brittany's eyes, and she was learning a whole lot of shit about the world and herself which was cool.

"Yeah? Awesome," Brittany says with a warm smile.

"Should be fun," Santana continues, thinking of more traveling, and then realizes Brittany is still acting nervous. Why was she so nervous to bring up a longer honeymoon?

"Is _that_ what you wanted to talk about?"

They've entered the warmth of the hotel lobby now, and Brittany shakes her head. So then that _wasn't_ what she wanted to talk about after all.

Santana's eyebrows raise in suspicion – the only other thing she can think of is-

"YAAAAAAHHH!" A little blonde boy screeches, impersonating what Santana thins is either a dinosaur or one of The Real Housewives of Beverly Hills, and runs through the lobby. Behind him his father yells at him in Dutch.

- kids.

Shudder.

"No that wasn't what I wanted to talk about… and by the way we have to pretend we were never in England on our honeymoon because otherwise my Aunt will flip shit and say we're terrible people who ignored her when really we didn't want to stay with her cuz then she'd spy on us all the time and it would mean no sex… or fun."

"It's our secret, then… but I'm better at keeping secrets if my lips are attached to your lips… Just putting that out there." Santana says as nonchalantly as possible while pressing for the elevator. It opens immediately, which makes her feel real suave.

Brittany attaches their lips without delay when the doors close behind them, and then she very seriously admits to what exactly it is she's been thinking about.

"I feel like we're more solid than ever together, now that we've spent more time than ever before together and are still in love, you know? Like in changing environments and stuff, and, well, Santana… I… I want…" Brittany chews her lip, "I totally used the word 'ever' too much. Ugh."

Santana isn't an idiot and she knows where Brittany is going with this because she has a feeling she knows what Brittany wants and even though it's making her heart beat really fast in the non-sexy way and her mind conjure up scenarios she's totally not ready for (screw you little Dutch boy who runs through lobbies), she tries to be as supportive as possible by not allowing her nerves to show on her face. This was some serious shit they were getting into, in this Amsterdam hotel elevator, and she had to be open and communicative.

"You want kids."

Brittany exhales and her shoulders drop some tension, thankful Santana was able to speak the words she seemed to trip over, "yeah. I want kids. And you've got adoption papers ready for Sepp when we get back, and he's a great son to have but… I want a baby."

Nodding thoughtfully, Santana whispers (mostly to herself), "a baby."

"Yeah. Like, I've always wanted a baby – they are so cute and perfect – but the desire has just gotten even stronger, and especially to have one with _you_ because I think together we'd make great parents…"

So it was her own fault for being so damn awesome, Santana thinks.

Brittany gives her an even more serious look adding, "the urge is just getting stronger everyday I'm with you… I _really_ want one. I was thinking that, I could look into it?"

The sincere hope on Brittany's face is like nothing Santana has seen before. There was no way she'd be able to deny that face anything.

She's Santana Lopez, she ain't afraid of no unborn baby. Bring it on, little fetus-fucker. Post-fetus-fucker? Whatever.

She turns to Brittany and says, "babies look cuter the more I'm exposed to them I guess, and I haven't made any kids cry since the park that one time-"

The elevator doors open, and Brittany keeps on staring at her in earnest hope.

"- and yes. _We_ can most definitely look into having a baby—mf!"

Brittany is already pulling her into a kiss again, wrapping her arms securely around Santana's neck and holding her face captive in that familiar hold that lets Brittany be in total control of making out with her face. When she's let go, Santana finds Brittany's happiness overflowing and can't help but laugh in joy with her even though she knows this decision is going to fuck with her brain some more later. Brittany has always wanted kids and Santana has never truly been sure, but she wasn't against the idea so much as afraid of failing.

While she had long since taken charge of her life, it was a personal struggle of hers to think of being in charge of a _baby -_ a baby who will grow into something she helped mold_._ A baby who she, Anger Management Fucking Platinum Member, will parent.

That poor, unborn fetus. It's 'fucker' title will be her legacy. Aw, shit.

"This is – we need to go celebrate!" Brittany claps and jumps, tugging Santana out of the elevator.

But, Brittany's dream just came true before her very eyes in that moment which made her feel great for responding in a way that gave Brittany such delight. She could totally Mom it up some. Totally. Santana Mother Lopez would be her middle name she'd be so damn mother-like.

"I'm so excited!" Brittany cheers even further, now lifting Santana up and spinning her around before dropping her to do a cartwheel in the hallway of their floor and executing some celebration dance moves.

Okay so, Brittany _really_ wanted a baby.

/

_**One day-ish ago, Hawaii…**_

This here was paradise. Santana had a nice coconut filled with rum and yum-yum pink juice, a bamboo straw leading the concoction to her lips (the little blue umbrella making it extra fun to drink from), and a sight that made her jaw drop open and her fingers lift her large Gucci glasses up for proper admiration.

Her inner monologue is speechless right now, because there's some Baywatch shit going on.

From the ocean a body emerges, all bright pink string bikini clad 'hubba-hubba' and fit. It was Brittany, obviously, because no one was that hot except Brittany and because Brittany's blonde hair was as unmistakable as her walk.

Brittany flipped her head to make the wet strands of hair move away from her face, and she greeted Santana with a sexy grin.

"You drunk crying because you're already done your fifth coconut thingie or because the sun winning staring contests again?"

"You're too beautiful for my eyes and now they know it," Santana says, her mouth pursing now that it was suspect she was drunk. Also, Brittany didn't need to know this was her seventh drink.

With a giggle, Brittany grabs her hotel beach towel she left on the shore lounger next to the one Santana was reclined on and dried her body off. Then she sits down on the space left between the end of Santana's chair and Santana's hip.

"_You_ need to let me finish this one," she takes the coconut from Santana's hands and then leans in as if she was going for a kiss.

Santana's lips part, ready and willing, only for the anticipation to get slapped in the face when Brittany pauses her follow-through with a smirk and takes a long sip of the punch instead.

"Tease," Santana pouts, disappointed (and now on the verge to cry).

"_You're_ the one who said we should enjoy the beach when I wanted to stay in our room. It had beach view. Deal with it."

Santana laughs, especially since it was backwards for Brittany to admit she enjoyed the expensive view of their expensive room.

"Twisting my own words against me… I knew we weren't strong enough to overcome marital disputes. I'm filing for irreconcilable differences and not enough kisses."

Brittany rolls her eyes at Santana's lame joke and then gives her a good, rough kiss with her lips and tongue reminding Santana about their reconcilable differences and exceptional kisses.

Santana moans when their tongues meet and they both break the kiss off with matching grins. Reconcilable to the max.

"Suddenly sober, huh, babe?" Brittany teases, not at all minding the way frisky fingers tug gently at her pink bikini bottoms or possessive eyes rake over her fine, divine, sublime, body.

Santana is incredibly turned on and gulps from the words Brittany breathed into her ear.

"Britt…"

"So let's maybe walk around and explore Honolulu?"

"Nooooo. Let's do each other."

"Let's do both?" Brittany suggests, her lips close over the straw again, and she looks down with fluttering lashes at Santana.

"Fine."

When more tears escape Santana's eyes, Brittany leans forward and kisses her forehead.

"Why don't you nap off your drinks, sweetie?"

"Its just, they tasted so delicious I had to have another," Santana excuses herself with a mumble before closing her eyes and enjoying the beach and sun's warmth. "Like your kisses."

Brittany finishes the punch and puts the empty coconut on the table nearby, rubbing a hand up Santana's smooth leg she had stretched out with a tender smile before deciding to cuddle into her to share the nap. She kissed a shoulder before sighing into Santana's neck, and laid out on her side with a gaze on the sunny Pacific Ocean horizon.

/

It was true when people said you 'don't really _know_ someone until you married them.'

Or, in Santana's case, go on a honeymoon with them.

There's just something really different about marriage, and she thought she knew whom she was marrying but… things get revealed.

Like, they had a breathtaking romance that cultivated in an epic love (according to Brittany's drunk poetry) but being alone for all hours of the day while on a honeymoon that ended up taking six months of _just_ the two of them ended up making them know each other in _various_ new ways.

It was surprisingly educative, is what she's saying.

Santana had no clue Brittany liked James bond movies, for example. Something they had in common that just never came up in conversation. Santana loved James Bond movies because she watched them with her grandmother all the time while chopping onions for cooking. Her late grandfather had them on DVD and Santana found all Bond girls exceptionally hot while she was going through her secret gay-emotions realization thing. Brittany's mom apparently was a huge fan of all men who played James Bond so Brittany watched them with her mom, and while Brittany admitted a few bond girls were hot, she mostly had a fascination with the poetic fate of villains. Anyways, they talked about their mutual film affection when their plane from Hong Kong got delayed five hours.

Other things she learned about Brittany included her knowledge of first aid (they both saved that guy on their London tour whose diabetes almost killed him), her ability to make stupid things sound fun (never again, Santana was never flying a kite ever again!), and her love of art (the most expensive thing Brittany bought on their trip was a copy of a Wassily Kandinsky, shipping included).

Initially there was some push-and-pull between them with traveling since Brittany wanted to be more impulsive and free with some backpacking authentic experiences she called 'winging it' (she did this by playing 'eenie meenie' with bus maps), and Santana's vacation list was relatively small with the following requirements: five-star restaurants and hotels, Brittany nearby in a bikini with some massage oil, and drinks on trays with first-class plane tickets ready. But, Brittany was right. It wasn't everyday you traveled the world with a hot wife so you might as well hit a museum here and there and buy a camera for all the sightseeing.

What surprised Santana was how much fun she had exploring… she had never been the adventurer type – high stress situations were advised by all her anger management councilors as things to avoid (and anything out of her routine stressed her)– but stress was minimum with Brittany around, smiling her exclusive smile and keeping a cool head even when shit went down because Brittany had her back (and her on her back).

Shit like when Brittany tried to get Santana to learn how to drive a motorcycle in Bolivia and the motorcycle fell of a dangerous cliff (and since there were no witnesses they pretended it was stolen when the rental agency asked – a criminal act they were taking to their graves after role-playing criminally hot lawbreakers), or when Santana got pick-pocketed in Athens (they started busking and made enough for one cup of coffee – Greece was a country with insane economic problems), or when they got stuck on the ski lift in Switzerland for two hours and had their first honeymoon fight (about who would jump off to get help and who would stay behind in case it started again) followed by hot fireplace makeup sex where Santana kind of, sort of, totally pulled a back muscle.

But, that was mostly healed, so…

Anyways, with a bit of both of their tastes and a lot of sex (except for when her back throbbed hardcore), their honeymoon was fabulous.

"No, stop it! My stomach hurts…" Santana has to breathe out between wheezing and choking through her laughter – Brittany was hilarious.

"She was- she was like OH SHIT a Koala!" Brittany is in hysterics as well, the both of them rolling around on the sand and unable to stop laughing at the memory of a particular woman, a total stranger, who mistook a raccoon for a Koala during their earlier walk around Honolulu – the ultimate final destination of their epic honeymoon being this Hawaii resort.

Tomorrow was their return flight home and it was the end to The Most Wonderful Vacation of Boobs, the fantasy of a lifetime.

Eventually after their laughter dwindles and then bursts out again because Santana impersonates the same face as the woman, it settles into giggles and Brittany is the first to let out a sigh of bittersweet symphony. They've been spending their last night enjoying the stars, lying down in the warm sand and letting the beach winds tussle their hair some.

Brittany's never seen Santana so relaxed before, as she has been during their time together these past few months, and Brittany has never felt so relaxed herself either. It was just them and no work, no worries, no pressure.

"You know, these six months have been the best time of my entire life – can it get better than this?" Santana is the one who says it, looking exactly how Brittany feels, which is wondrous.

"We should do this every year," Brittany says, rolling her body over on the sand and closer to Santana so she could kiss her cheek.

"What? Take six months off and travel?" Santana says, lifting her body up on her elbows and watching Brittany start to play with the sand, drawing hearts and squiggles. The sight of her long blonde hair flying in the beach wind was breathtaking, especially in the starlight when she was wearing that white beach dress.

"Totally. Except next time we'll have a baby."

Santana's laugh this time is nervous. Brittany looks at her, smiling. She then moves her upper body over Santana and smiles down at her before kissing her lips softly.

The moonlight is gorgeous and bright, the perfect scenery for some honeymoon macking.

Santana curls a hand up between her shoulders, and the kisses they share occupy ten minutes of their time.

When Brittany breaks it off to stare at her, Santana knows she's being analyzed. Brittany wanted to be sure she was ready before doing anything about it. 'It' being kids.

They were going to have a baby pretty damn soon since Brittany had made her desires known, and while Santana had already agreed to it she was still nervous about the impending reality of it all.

Like, how to make sure the baby bottle is sterile and _when_ exactly do babies grow? Overnight?

"If you're having second thoughts-"

"No, not having second thoughts," Santana promises. She lifts her hand to brush some sand from Brittany's arm and then collapses back into lying down, wondering if she would be good at it. Her. A mother.

She thought she'd been through this with her mind, already, but it was apparently a wuss.

"Santana."

"Okay, I was having second thoughts but I've decided to do this, honest… I'm just nervous is all. It's a huge responsibility."

She was still hesitant to be a parent, she wasn't as ready as Brittany was, but she was committed to see this shit through. She does mental prep every night since she agreed while she brushes her teeth, imaging all the changes and measures having a baby will take on her life.

_Buy a crib, buy cute baby clothes, take kickboxing… puree everything into baby food, keep the diapers stocked, exercise more, learn to sing lullabies…_

Basically, she was more committed than ever to do this baby shit on account of all the mental energy she's put into getting ready. She was Santana Lopez, she could totally burp a baby and whatever the fuck else. Just try her.

Hold a baby? Yeah she looked up the proper ways to hold it. _Really_ not that hard. You just hold it and support it's head.

And if it cried? She was all ready to wake up and attend to it. She had experience with small bouts of sleep back when she worked all the time. Little sleep was no problem, buying the right baby monitor might prove challenging though…

"Even so, I want to tell you what I think. I think you'll surprise yourself and you should trust my confidence in you."

Brittany did have a point… Until she remembered Brittany also thought she could drive a motorcycle and that fell off a cliff when they were in Bolivia. Like, she let go of the handles and it just skid off. Fact.

Brittany kisses her again, like she knows Santana is thinking too much, and then she sighs happily.

"The fact that you take this so seriously is why you're _perfect_. I have faith in you."

And the reassurance is actually, very calming after all. Screw the motorcycle thing, a motorcycle was not a baby.

"Thanks."

God, just how many times was her mind going to go back and forth on this? Why couldn't is just chill out?

They stare at the night sky together, and Santana takes a deep breath. Paradise smells amazing, when she ignores the large baby elephant.

"I want to go back, but I also don't want to go back…" Santana says after a moment's cuddling under the stars. She wants to comb a hand through Brittany's hair but her hands are full of sand and Brittany didn't like sand in her hair.

"I know, me too… lets take one last selfie before we go back to our room," Brittany suggests, and then sits up while grabbing her camera bag from the side.

Smiling, Santana rolls onto her stomach and then leans her head down on Brittany's shoulder to smile with her into the reverse-pointing camera.

They stand up and brush sand off. Brittany puts her camera, purchased factory-prce in Japan, back in it's carrying bag.

"I wants to get my mack on," Santana urges out when she realizes Brittany is still fumbling with her camera bag strap and not next to her, walking back to the hotel.

Brittany runs up to her and grabs her arm, leading her in a giggling jog back up the beach to where the hotel was lit up in lights. They slow down and make out a little near a palm tree, because the tree had their 'S+B' carved onto it from Santana's diamond necklace while they were drunk there the night before. They also took another selfie with the tree, now affectionately named 'Tree.'

"How's your back?" Brittany asks before getting too carried away with Santana's lips and body.

Considering their honeymoon gave them a lot of time together which meant a lot of sex together, day after day, injuries had happened. Scratches, muscle aches and strains… Brittany's theory was the closer they got to the equator the rougher the sex. It got _beyond_ passionate when they were fucking in Peru.

But Santana's back sprain during fireplace sex had been pretty bad – she didn't even get to orgasm because it hurt so much.

"It's much better, promise. That Asian Tiger Balm worked really well. Let's just, uh, stop in the lobby before we head up to bed, babe. We still got to settle our transport to the airport tomorrow."

Brittany whispers to her as they enter the lobby, "Still going to make sure tonight you stay on it, just to make sure."

It's a forewarning Santana can't verbally respond to. She's way too turned on just thinking about it and has to collect herself before going to the reception desk.

(There was the silver lining in hurting your back and that silver lining was called Get Comfortable and Let Your Blonde Wife 'Take Care' of You. It was pretty great.)

Santana clears her throat at the garcon when she can move her legs again, "hi."

"Hi, Mrs. Lopez. Hope you enjoyed your day and the live music at dinner. How can I help you?"

The music was meh, but she has had a productive evening. Getting her mack on, agreeing to have a baby once more, getting her mack on next to Tree… it was accumulating into a rather successful marriage.

"We need a cab," she turns her head, suddenly realizing Brittany's hand was no longer in her hand, to notice Brittany was entranced with the large aquarium. Taking this opportunity to secretly splurge since Brittany wasn't there to reason that a normal cab was adequate, she then leans into him to whisper, "make that a limo, to take us to the airport at ten in the morning."

"Of course," he entered this into his computer, "is that all?"

"Uh, can we have champagne sent to the room tonight, and we'll take breakfast to go with the limo in the morning."

"Done. I've charged all these services to your card, if there are any issues please let us know. The champagne will be there shortly, have a lovely evening."

"Evening."

This was da' bomb. Five-star service, Brittany in utter happiness and ready to fuck her all night long, and not to mention her skin which developed a natural glow from all the Vitamin D she soaked in the sun.

/

_**Present Day, Honeymoon officially over…**_

Santana gave Ritza (she was pretty sure that was the woman's name) a nod as the janitor waved at her before going back to yelling at the guy in the suit who had spilled his coffee on the polished marble floors of the courthouse. They were cool ever since the power went out in the courthouse a while back and Santana let Ritza eat the free donut provided for lawyers. Ritza never knew Santana didn't eat donuts and considered this a grand enough sacrifice to deserve a nod whenever they made eye contact.

Oh, courthouse. How she kind of sort of missed the energy pulsing in here. Where Ritza was always policing the spotlessness of everything and someone was always crying because they either lost a case or found out Aunt Janine lied about being away for the weekend and really was locked up in a hotel room with your husband. Classic Cougar Aunt Janine.

"When I get out of jail I WILL KILL YOU!"

Oh, how good it was to be back in the thick of excitement. Fresh and ready to win some arguments, make some of the money back that got sucked into traveling expenses, and wear a freshly ironed shirt.

"NOT IF I KILL ME FIRST!"

"You can just never let an ARGUMENT DROP, you BITCH!"

She slips into the courtroom she's meant to be in, her leather satchel all polished like her black leather stilleots, and overhears Judge Trent Warbler speak to her client.

"Where is your lawyer-"

"Your honour," she announces her arrival, holding a hand out for Becky who's sitting in the benches and has a file at the ready to place in it, "sorry I'm late."

She totally choreographed that cool entrance with Becky while she was in the cab over here from her apartment. It worked just as she imagined and made her look really cool, the bailiff even nodded in appreciation.

"Lopez!" The Judge smiles warmly at her, "I can only assume that if you're late you're one of the few people who actually has a good reason. I find myself not nearly as mad as I was thirty seconds ago. Also, how is your health? There have been… whispers."

The defense attorney Hunter Clarington snorts loudly, "I think we should _proceed_ Your Honour, not welcome back Lopez from the dead."

"The dead?" Santana drops her satchel next to her sweating, nervous client on their side of the courtroom (neckbrace chick?) who looks ready to barf, and then turns around to give Becky an offended look, "you told people I was dead?"

"NO. Since you were away I also went away. To Disneyland. I think Clarice from taxes made it up."

Taxes. The gossip vultures.

"There was _a_ rumour," Judge Warbler explains, "glad to see it was a false one. Where were you, then, if you don't mind me asking? Your face is… bruised."

"Since the other rumour was jail due to drug connections," Hunter pipes in again.

Santana gives her courtroom foe a withering glare. "I was on my _honeymoon_. Just got back last night, actually."

"And why is your face all black and blue?" Hunter smirks at her, saying it with amusement and snark. "Is honeymoon code for-"

"Go back to blowing whistles with your running mouth, Hunter," Santana snaps back at him. "_This_ is from a suitcase my father-in-law flung at me when he slipped on ice. And it's really not that blue, is it?"

"It's not that noticeable," Neckbrace client offers comfortingly. Which is not entirely comforting from someone in a neckbrace.

"Winter, the season of accidents and lawsuits," Judge Warbler sighs, reminiscing his own slip on ice just that morning. He needed shoes with better grip. "Have a minute to collect yourself and then we'll begin."

"You're actually married?" Hunter's eyes widen and then stare at her. "Congratulations, I guess."

"Thanks," she smirks at him and then taps her finger on the folder while skim-reading it, "Becky, you refer to our client as 'Neckbrace' in all these files, what's her actual name?"

Neckbrace opens her mouth to say "it's-"

Becky crosses her arms, "I don't fucking know! I can go back to the office now, right?"

She waves Becky away.

An hour later, Hunter is clinking his shot of amaretto against hers and then they're both knocking them back.

"So, tell me about your husband," he says to her.

"My _wife_, Brittany. She's pretty."

He raises an eyebrow, "no shit."

"What do you mean?"

"So _those_ rumours are true?"

"Where do you hear all these fucking 'rumours' from, anyways?"

"Well, at your office specifically, his name was Eugene. He worked the copy machine. He was my number one for a while but he's dropped to number four… anyways, he said you fucked HP's daughter."

"HP?"

"Your firm's head honcho? Horton Pierce? Say, is it true he's retiring? Will that leave a nice selection of lawyer-less clients?"

"Stay away from our clients, leech."

Hunter scoffs at her, "I will find out! So, tell me tell me. You taking over Pierce&Evans or what?"

Santana shrugs, "that's my cue to leave. It was as lovely as ever defeating you in court, Clarington. Next time!"

"Bye!"

She leaves some money for her drink on the bar top and shoulders her satchel before leaving the 'lawyer' bar most lawyers used after court. She starts the long walk to Pierce&Evans instead of grabbing a cab, it wasn't as icy as last night.

She catches a glimpse of her face in a cafeteria window and sighs.

Five stitches on the cheek and some bruising because 'HP' slipped on ice. The poor guy was in extreme pain with his tailbone bruised and all, but Santana was now more convinced than ever that her face was doomed with annual injury. At least it wasn't the nose this time. Just lots of blood…

When she gets to the elevator, she takes in a deep breath. There wasn't much else to do today except prep for her week and get back into the swing of meetings. She hoped Becky made sure her office was cleaned properly while she had been away.

The elevator doors open and she steps out. It was nice to know she still had the best office strut that made heads turn (since everyone stopped and stared as she trekked across the floor to her office). She had one of _those_ asses.

"Really, Becky? You've started eating king-size chocolate bars since I've been gone?"

Becky frowns and puts her _Oh Henry_ down, "fuck you. Neckbrace left you a thank-you card, right here."

Santana sighs and swipes the card from the corner of Becky's desk before going to her own office door, opening it.

"Oh, and Brittany called." Becky adds quickly.

"Great, start with that next time. I'm married now, you know! Go eat some vegetables." She ignores the finger given to her and enters her office with a sigh – ah, the smell of her Badassery Headquarters (also known as her cool office).

She sits on her swivel chair and spins once before grabbing her office phone and speed dialing for Brittany's cell.

"_Yo,_" Brittany's voice greets her, _"this is Brittany, don't leave a message just call me back later."_

She hangs up and is frowning a little until her office door opens and Brittany is the intruder.

Well, hello there.

"Hey I was just calling," Santana stands up and meets her halfway, leaning in for a cheek kiss, "is that for me?"

"Yeah I made you a sandwich."

"You made it." Her voice doesn't hide her disbelief at all.

Brittany drops the Ziploc contained sandwich on her desk and then pulls Santana in by her suit jacket for a make out sesh, not at all insulted with the fact that Santana's face at the thought of her making a sandwich was one of 'please God no.'

With a reluctant breakaway from the super hot makings of Brittany's very capable tongue, Santana whispers, "I'm at work and Becky is right outside…"

Brittany licks her lip and then nods behind her, "I closed the blinds, see?"

"Britt…" Santana's smiling at her with amusement now, "we literally flew back in last night, the honeymoon is over."

"Yeah but, the stitches held up while I just gave you that moment of _ecstasy_." She says the last word with a long drawl and gently presses her thumb to Santana's sutured cheek. She giggles at 'moment of ecstasy' because that was her favourite Santana quote of their honeymoon.

With a groan, Santana has to say, "you're never going to let me forget that, are you."

"Come on," Brittany presses another quick kiss to her lips, "we didn't do much _us_ time in Hawaii last week because you pulled your back and drank rum punch on the beach all day… and you never had to wear a sexy suit like this when we were on our honeymoon, I missed it… thinking about it made me want it."

"Babe," Santana holds her breath as Brittany's fingers slowly undo the button of her white blouse closest to her cleavage.

"Come on, Becky went home sick."

"Ugh, no she didn't."

Brittany pleads one last time, "I made you a sandwich, I came all this way, _and_ I'm wet as f-"

"What the hell!"

They both spring apart and, after the initial surprise, turn to glare at the new intruder.

"Really, you close the blinds but forget to lock the door?" Gracie Pierce yell-whispers at them and then pushes the door shut behind her.

Quickly spinning around, Santana does up the undone button and then gestures to her couch, "want me to make Becky get us-"

Becky pokes her head in at this point to say, "I'm going home sick. Deal with it. Later, Brittany."

"Bye Becky!" Brittany waves the blonde away and then sighs under her breath about how Becky was supposed to have gone home sick _already_.

Santana rolls her eyes at her wife and whispers to her, "really? My secretary is on your attempt for afternoon delight?"

"It would have been the perfect plan," Brittany explains unapologetically before turning to her sister, "did you need Santana for something?"

"Yes and no," Gracie leans back on the leather couch. "I saw you from my office, Brittany. You've had Santana for six months, aren't you sick of her?"

"Hey!" Santana says, mildly offended, "six-months too short, _Tinky_ _Winky_. No one is sick of anyone."

She shares a dopey look with Brittany after saying it, and Gracie rolls her eyes at them.

"Aaaaaanyways, heard you've already got a settlement for Stern. Nice, first day back and straight to court and winning with stitches in your face… this place was boring without you."

"Stern who?"

"Jordan Stern? Your client with the fractured neck because her gymnast coerced her into dangerous techniques?"

"Ah, yes, Neckbrace." Santana nods seriously, "poor girl. Hopefully that settlement eases the neck pain and the fact that she almost died from extreme aerobic cataclysm. That was my closing statement, Judge Warbler was applauding me with his eyes."

"You're so cool," Brittany says admiringly before she shifts uncomfortably, trying to keep her thighs together.

"Speaking of pain, how's your…." Gracie gestures to her own cheek area with a sympathetic smile.

"It's fine. It only hurts when I touch it directly."

"Or when I touch directly," Brittany says, still a little perturbed her plan of seduction fell through on account of her little sister needing attention.

"How's your dad?" Santana chooses to ask, now grabbing her Ziploc sandwich and eyeing it carefully. There's no way Brittany could fuck up a sandwich, right? She made it so thoughtfully… Santana wanted to eat it.

"He's passed out on T3's," Brittany says.

"He feels so bad about that," Gracie adds, looking apologetically at her sister-in-law. "But he enjoyed mom's caretaking last night."

"Gross," Santana says, as Brittany makes a gagging sound.

"Not like that! Ew, no. NO."

"You can't unsay that shit, G."

"I'm not in the mood anymore, Santana…" Brittany whispers to her apologetically before turning to her sister, "you want to play Crazy 8's and have sister time?"

"Yes!" Gracie says with a smile, "later, Santana."

As the two sisters leave her office, Santana goes back to her desk to unwrap and eat her sandwich and then notices, "Where the hell is my laptop?"

/

"Yes… yes I was away for personal reasons… okay, thank you. Oh? I was on my honeymoon… uh-huh…. Mercedes, you were invited to the wedding. You were touring… look, come by my office Saturday I'll be there. Okay. I'm hanging up now – bye!"

Santana groans and tosses her phone on the coffee table next to her.

"Now, where were we?" She puts her head back above Brittany's breasts and resumes her cuddle zone.

It takes two minutes for her to realize Brittany is annoyed.

"What?"

"You're working Saturday?"

"Yes, I gots to make meeting time for all my clients on account of ditching work to giddy-up all over the world."

Brittany looks down at her and blinks, slowly.

Santana knew them blinks by heart nowadays. That was a level five blink, also known as the 'Santana Lopez you aren't getting a kiss anytime soon' blink.

"What?"

"It's nothing… I remember my wife saying she'd never work Saturdays ever again, is all… but that must have been my other wife."

"Brittany, babe, come on," Santana sits up and now feels like shit, "I told you I'd have to catch up with all my clients, and Mercedes is especially desperate because she needs legal advice on some slander thing. It's just for a little while, and then things will go back to how they were before… and Saturdays will be off the table except for emergencies."

"No, I get that Santana. It's just, I thought you'd remember that _this_ Saturday we have an appointment with Dr… Dr… shit, I forget their name…"

"We have a – oh. OH." Santana's eyes go wide with recognition, "I… forgot about that?"

Brittany squints at her, "you… forgot?"

"Totally just… wow, I actually forgot about it."

Brittany doesn't seem mad anymore, just a little scared now as she moves forward and touches her hand to Santana's forehead as if checking for a fever, "_you_ forgot?"

"I must have?"

"You never forget anything though!" Brittany says, now pulling Santana in for a comforting hug, "oh, honey, either that suitcase Dad whipped at you was harder than we thought or you must be so nervous... How many times will it take for you to get it, you have nothing to freak out about."

"I'm not freaking out," Santana denies, but enjoys the comfort provided from this comfort-giving hug all the same. "Am I?"

"It's either that or I forgot to tell you but, I remember telling you and I don't _think_ that was a dream…"

They both look at each other oddly, now unsure who forgot what, and Santana chooses then to just say, "well, what time is our appointment?"

"At two."

"I'll be there."


	2. Chapter 1

**A/N: **yo yo. So I drop some angst in here to fuck with Santana but i swear its not another #BrokenNose

**Disclaimer: **i hath no claim motherfuckers

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter 1 <strong>

* * *

><p>Mercedes Jones approaches the bitchy secretary of her lawyer, Santana Lopez, and clears her throat.<p>

She was ignored.

Mercedes usually likes that Secretary Bitch doesn't flatter her for being one of the most famous musicians of the generation, but considering her latest legal troubles were because of negative press and her image being threatened, she didn't enjoy it at all. So, she clears it a little louder and then the young woman glares at her.

"What?"

"I'm here to see-"

"Becky!"

"—her." Mercedes is amused when the shout comes from the open office door and the secretary, Becky, rolls her eyes before standing up and gesturing Mercedes to follow.

"You want coffee, tea, water, juice, soda, or a hard candy to suck on?" The secretary asks her pointedly as they trek to the office. "She's all over the place since she got back so she'll probably forget to ask. She's rusty."

Finding the woman's considerate thought kind of nice but her disdain kind of not, Mercedes shakes her head and says, "no thanks, I'm good."

Becky rolls her eyes again – which Mercedes finds rude - and they both enter to find Santana sitting at her desk with a large stack of files on her left and a smaller stack on her right.

Inside the office, Mercedes finds her lawyer flipping absently through some pages and jabbing her pen here and there, not looking up as she speaks to her secretary's sigh of 'what do you want now?'

"Is Jones here yet? And I kind of hoped you'd take some _initiative_ and scan all this shit so I could go paperless. You know my delicate fingers are susceptible to paper cuts."

"You told me to make sure you have a hard copy of everything printed out and locked in a secure place in case your electronic files ever malfunctioned," Becky says with some sass. "Make up your mind."

Mercedes raises her eyebrows, if anyone who worked for her spoke to her with that kind of attitude she'd knock them down a few pegs.

"I'm here, I'm here," Mercedes sits herself down on the leather couch and removes her enormous shades and over-the-top hat, looking surprised when Santana doesn't do much more than wave her secretary away and even give a brief apology.

When Becky stomps off, Mercedes is pretty sure that bitchy attitude is not a symptom of down syndrome.

Santana puts down the papers in her hands and sighs in relief at Mercedes being there. "Thank _god_ you're here on time instead of your usual fashionably late crap. Listen, I have to keep this quick. I have an appointment of my own to keep today, so thank you for coming over but can we keep this as brief as possible?"

Mercedes nods and then points back to the open door where Becky left, "well, first off, do you know your secretary is total crap at her job? She was watching Netflix out there and has a rude tongue. I ain't dissing her handicap, just her attitude."

"She's a multi-tasker. So, slander, huh?" Santana switches the subject back to Mercedes and leans back in her chair.

"Someone is always trying to fuck up my life it's just never been so big a deal before – hold up, _girl_, what happened to your cheek? That's some scar…"

"A suitcase." Santana consciously touches her cheek. "And it's small. Barely noticeable."

"Um, I can see the little suture pattern or whatever. Ouch."

"Mercedes, concentrate, just - start from the beginning, leave out no detail."

"It's all total bullshit is what this is!" Mercedes huffs before standing up and pacing the space in front of Santana's desk. "My PR is useless and you were out of town honeymooning- hey when the hell did you get married anyways? It better be to that blonde Brittany, right? She was sweet."

"Yes," Santana proudly grabs the framed photo facing her on her desk and turns it around so Mercedes could see the two of them in their wedding dresses with light snow falling around them, "that was taken by photographer Eric Van-"

"Awww! This is the cutest thing I've ever seen, right after that video of the blind kittens!" Mercedes squeals, her hand reaching out to touch it.

"The frame is a gift from my sister-in-law, I don't want it scratched." Santana takes the frame back before Mercedes can do so, and spends a lingering moment setting it nicely back in place, unaware of Mercedes looking at her in amusement.

"Well, how was the honeymoon?"

Santana smirks wickedly and doesn't answer, "business _first_. Then if we have time I might humour your questions. So?"

"You said you almost invited me to your wedding, that makes us friends. I have no friends, you know. Everyone is after my money and fame." Mercedes's whole body sinks a little, and it's pitifully true. Santana does feel a little bad for her.

Santana gives her a patient look and says, "I don't have fame like you, Mercedes, but I'm your lawyer first and maybe next time we meet up we can do it over lunch or something – it's just that I really need to be somewhere before two o'clock. I'm not trying to be dismissive, just a little selfish."

Feeling comforted by her lawyer's words, Mercedes nods and starts telling her side of the tale, being brief and to the point even though her anger gets the better of her at some moments. She's reluctant when discussing some of her own faults but knows this has to be discussed and dealt with. Mercedes sits back down on the couch and sighs when she's finished telling Santana how misunderstandings have painted her in a negative light and lost her some 'friends' and fans.

A moment later, Santana sits besides her and says, "look. I read up the headlines which are so terrible I'm surprised people make a living off of spewing that crap. So apparently you're losing fans because people think you're a bible thumping lunatic, so what? You said it was all out of context, you've given me your honest version and I will do my part. If you want to successfully sue for slander I've got that handled but I recommend you hire yourself some new PR to make sure the fact that you're fighting what is being said about you publicly. I know a lady, real cutthroat, I'll set a meeting with her as soon as possible. Meanwhile, your net worth can take my litigation bills but your legacy needs the backup, you know? Your merchandising contracts we signed will hold through this, but if you want to renew them we'll definitely need to put this to rest. You're going to have a long few months ahead of you."

"I know it's just… this whole thing sucks. Sometimes I hate fame so much I want to be a normal girl who talks about normal things. Not someone who greets someone politely because she thought he was a fan but it turned out he was a bigoted shit! UGH."

Santana nods, trying not to make it obvious that she was glancing at the clock. She had to be at the fertility clinic to meet Brittany in an hour so she gave in and let Mercedes get some stuff off her chest she's been holding in. She decides not to charge her client for the second hour. Pro bono listening.

"Read about some history, there's always someone who gets screwed over. But let's make sure you're one of the people who comes out on top."

"You are the best lawyer ever," Mercedes thanks Santana for her words.

/

Ten times Brittany had been tricked into thinking one night stands were a good idea and nine times she had realized that was wrong. They were terrible ideas. Either someone's little sister started stalking you or that other person found out where you worked and begged you to date them. Or told both your families you were dating when you really weren't dating and it made things awkward.

Her conclusions were A) only clingy people were attracted to her and B) people were too clingy.

Obviously something about her was so awesome people needed another hit, but she never returned their clingy feelings and the whole point of one night stands was to _avoid_ clingy feelings or hurting someone's feelings or making them feel used, because she never met anyone worth it and had no time for it and just hated feeling like the bad guy that told someone they weren't good enough for a second time or cup of coffee. She had things to do and experience, she had no time for relationships that would tie her down and stop her from living freely.

Then that special number ten one-night stand ended up being the love of her life, her lifetime wife, her hero in times of strife, the gym babe with a body that gave her life… her… her…

"Human knife?" Brittany murmurs out loud to herself, squinting her eyes in thought of how far her rhymes could carry. Santana _was_ pretty good with knives. She chopped things super ninja fast because she practiced and horned the skill after seeing it on YouTube. How she never hurt herself with one of her Japanese knives but managed to sustain a suitcase to the face – Brittany wasn't exactly sure.

Anyways, that lady over there (engrossed hardcore in trying to beat her Fruit Ninja record) was hers. They even got married, which Brittany never thought she'd do. That drunken moment where she married her mirror reflection in protest of societal obligations after a heated argument with her mom on curfews and following rules where a young Brittany was so sure all she needed was herself in this world didn't count since there were no witnesses and she was sixteen. Underage.

"What is taking so _long_," Santana says with a groan a second later, putting her phone back into her purse because she was giving up the trials of Fruit Ninja to instead complain about how long they've been waiting for their two o'clock appointment with the gynecologist. It was now 2:30.

"I don't know, but I'm getting so bored I went from thinking about donuts to rhyming poetic lyric about 'ifes'… is 'rife' a word, by the way?"

"Yes it is, in fact I used that word to nail the coffin in my great debate Nationals win of my senior year … I said 'violence is rife, much like The Speaker's body odour,' so then I was a legend and that Speaker had to hand me my trophy… he was so pissed but, hey, he smelt bad. Someone had to say it. Turns out he used some kind of onion extract instead of deodorant to horde off voodoo, and the Debaters Board made him stop from a petition of a thousand signatures."

Santana says it with that tone she reserves for things she finds uniquely hilarious, and Brittany giggles with her.

"Thanks for the contextual explanation babe," Brittany smiles, imaging a teen Santana's call-out and knowing if they met way back then they would have been best friends, "I think I get it. Unfortunately it doesn't fit with my bus of thought."

"Bus of thought? Like a train of thought?"

"I wasn't thinking nearly as large as a train. Bus sized."

Santana chuckles and then closes her eyes. After a moment she says with some longing, "I miss our honeymoon."

"Me too," Brittany agrees. "And I can't believe we never role-played with you as Debate Captain."

"And, what, you my opponent?"

"Nah, I'd totally be the first place trophy."

Santana's face scrunches in confusion at how that would work and Brittany takes her hand. Might as well hold hands if things were taking so long.

"I have a gold leotard," Brittany helps her out. "Gold trophy."

"Ohhhhhh. Yeah, I could be into that. Just none of that ice cube stuff again."

"You didn't like the ice cubes?"

"They were cold. It was sexy, but just mostly cold."

"Yeah. Not our finest moment."

A receptionist finally appears from the shelves behind the reception desk, not smiling at all as she says flatly, "Dr. Zizes will see you now."

Brittany tenses next to her but then stands up quickly to follow the receptionist.

Santana rolls her eyes at the waiting time, but follows the leader to a private room where a hefty woman is ending a phone conversation and receptionist leaves them.

After a moment the doctor hangs up, and then turns to eye the two women with a snort, "seriously?"

"What?" Brittany and Santana ask at the same time, Brittany curiously and Santana defensively.

"You guys are the _couple_ interested in artificial insemination?" The tone is partly suspicious and disbelieving.

"Yes, _doctor," _Santana narrows her eyes and snaps, "You _are_ a doctor, right?"

The doctor lets out another sound that still comes across as condescending and pisses Santana off.

"So?" Brittany asks, handling the doctor's observation by trying to give the benefit of the doubt. "You're the doctor, we're the patients, it's no longer two o'clock, that's a chair – do you need constant statements to be able to do your job? I have an Uncle with Aspergers who kind of does that."

Their doctor's mouth opens like she knows she's being rude and Santana gives her an unimpressed eyebrow raise before cutting off her apology, "I'm a lawyer. Watch your bedside manner and do your fucking job."

With those words out of her wife's mouth, Brittany narrows her eyes dangerously at the doctor, her benefit of the doubt disproven, and then casually takes a seat on one of the plastic chairs.

Dr. Zizes's mouth drops open a little and her eyebrows shoot up in surprise and awareness that she's made a bad impression on patients. She promptly apologizes.

"Sorry, you guys just are not what I expected - in fact _nothing_ at _all_ what I expected. I honestly thought you showed up to the wrong appointment. Please forgive my behaviour. I promise, when it comes to inseminations we're the Number One Clinic for a reason – and I'm the best in the city. I'm just having a bad day. A terrible day. A horribly bad terrible day. I swear it was a horrible judgment on my part, I've had appointment mix-ups and just wanted to make sure you guys are the right couple."

Santana looks from the regretful doctor to her wife. She knows Brittany is probably over whatever just happened but was leaving the decision on whether or not to leave and find a new doctor up to her.

She sits down to give the woman a second chance, making a point to say out loud, "_fine_, Malpractice Waiting to Happen."

Offering a polite, professional smile that indicated none of the previous sass, the doctor starts.

"So, let me give you a background on A.I., first of all, Brittany Lopez is who Dr. Alvez faxed the charts for, so I assume that's who is carrying the baby?"

"Yeah, that's me," Brittany says immediately.

"Okay, Brittany, Dr. Alvez has deemed you in very fit condition to accept a pregnancy but I'm sure he's already told you that." Dr. Zizes smiles at her before asking, "Are you feeling prepared for this life change?"

Brittany nods confidently, "Sure. I'm really looking forward to experiencing the role of a pregnant woman in our society today, and how carrying a baby will evolve me."

"Um…"

Blinking, the doctor glances at the significant other who is nodding her head in support to say, "she's prepared, we're both prepared."

The couple exchanges a look Lauren has seen a few times – equal excitement, confidence, nerves, and fright.

"Right, then. So, we can do a test to see if you're ovulating and get this show on the road _today_ if you both have time? I have a cancellation right after you so I'd have time to attempt an IUI, _if_ we're feeling confident today?"

Santana's eyes bulge, "wait, _today_?"

The doctor turns her head to Brittany who also has her eyes widened at this option. People are often alarmed at how quick they can attempt artificial insemination, but she thinks these two are more alarmed because they only made an appointment for consultation. She hopes they go for it today, business has been slow this week. She just had a cancellation.

"Yep, this is America," Dr. Zizes nods, "If you're not ovulating, Brittany, you can come back when you are. We've got a ton of anonymous screened donors for you to select from here in the clinic. If you've ever had a pap smear, the process feels like that."

Brittany hears Santana ask with a surprisingly calm voice, "How long would it take?"

"Well, first I'll do a quick checkup now, and we'll determine the success rate of an attempt and go from there. If we _do_ attempt to inseminate today, it will take maybe thirty minutes for the specimen to be ready and, well, the procedure itself will be short. But then I'd like you to stay and lie down afterwards so the egg has a better chance of being fertilized... so that would be another forty minutes. I guess, around two hours? That should give you some time to choose a donor as well. "

"We just," Brittany says thoughtfully after a moment, "didn't come in today with this being a possibility. Can you give us a moment alone please?"

"Sure," Dr. Zizes says in understanding, leaving the room to give them some privacy.

Santana turns to Brittany and says, "so this day just got more interesting… and can I just point out that I got you that ovulation predictor kit and you said it was useless but you used it anyways and, _voila_, you and I both already know you're ovulating."

Brittany laughs, "okay fine, it wasn't useless after all. So? Should we try today or wait?"

"I don't know," comes the hesitant mumble before, "Hold up. Wait. I just realized…"

"What?" Brittany turns to her.

"It's my birthday _tomorrow_. The timing is... kind of interesting. _Weirdly_ interesting. It's like a dare to go for it."

"It is, isn't it?" Brittany smiles tenderly at Santana's oddly hopeful expression, as if her birthday was a sign of confidence. Brittany found that cute. "Well, I'm in if you're in. If you're having a freak-out moment, though, then we can wait. I don't want you to feel pressured and, more importantly, I know how cranky you get when your planned schedule teeters."

"Babe," Santana is absolutely serious when she says, "I'm in. I mean, it's only five hundred dollars for an attempt, right? So, if it fails we try again. And, really, what's the difference between trying today or later?"

"The timing, Santana. Today is today and later is later."

"Right, I know. But, _little_ timing. In the grand scheme of things we were intending on doing this by the end of the month. I think I'd prefer sooner rather than later."

"Yeah?" Brittany asks to make sure.

"Yeah. Let's do it."

They share a smile and even find themselves sharing a quick embrace, holding on to each other. Brittany realizes they're both awfully clingy, and it makes her laugh.

Brittany feels butterflies in her stomach when Dr. Zizes walks back in, something in her gut telling her that her life's about to change.

/

"I have this gut feeling that it took," Brittany says as her car slows into a pause before a red light. "Like as soon as we decided, I swear I knew. Is that my mother's intuition starting to present itself in preparation of being a mother?"

"Well, considering you're driving kind of fast, that's probably helping the gravity do its thaaang," Santana drawls playfully with a smirk. "And mother's intuition is a total myth. It's really just parental observation expanded by close observation of habits and patterns."

"Wait, isn't that what intuition is?"

Santana opens her mouth to argue before she leans back and rolls her eyes at herself, "HA. Yeah, it is. Ugh, I am so off my game."

"I think you've got game," Brittany tells her sweetly before she considers Santana and how Santana doesn't have her work bag with her, "you aren't heading back to the office tonight are you? Because I know you're trying to catch up after being gone for so long but then you'd be ditching me right after I got artificially inseminated and I'd probably get mad at you."

"Nah. While I did leave my bag there in my rush, I'll just get it tomorrow when you're sleeping in."

"If working on your birthday makes you happy you are allowed," Brittany tells her with a teasing grin.

"HA. Very funny. I have to go pick up Sepp though, and I booked a hair appointment. I found a split end."

"Mhmm."

"Yeah."

"What do you want to do tomorrow to celebrate? Besides the birthday sex, I mean."

Santana grins cheekily, "let me think about it."

"That was stupid," Brittany passes the comment on the car that ran a red light and got caught by the flash of a ticket. "Everyone knows where the cameras are."

"I'm also going to the gym tomorrow by the way. To work out." Santana says it so quickly, Brittany barely has a moment to ponder that before she speaks again, "Your sister was at the office, by the way. She's really thrown herself into work to get over the addiction. Work and yoga."

"I think it's a good thing?" Brittany says, "I mean, she's really busy all the time and I miss her but she's really finding herself… and she's healthy."

"That's the yoga. Want to drive around some more? Reflect on our decision today that according to your gut means we're going to be parents soon," Santana places her hand over Brittany's on the gearshift.

Brittany leans over and kisses Santana's cheek, where a still bruised scar marred it's surface with a reminisced pattern of the dissolved stitches, before the light turns green and she's off again with some speed. Driving was fun.

Santana takes her hand back from Brittany's to answer her dinging phone's chimes, and then a moment later (after promising Becky there was no work on her birthday) she speaks up again.

"Britt, do you think I could convince your mom to cook for my birthday? I _did_ only marry you so I'd have the perks of her food, you know? I want my spoils."

"She'd love to, are you kidding?" Brittany says before teasing back, "and gosh you're so sweet."

Santana laughs at her exaggerated gushing.

"I'm going to ignore that you just said you married me for my mom's cooking because I only married you for your cooking, so… that makes us even."

"You're so romantic," Santana says with sarcasm, a large grin still on her face.

"Hmm. You started it."

They share another playful laugh and Santana covers a yawn, but enjoys the small joy ride they were taking. She notices where they are and thinks of the nearby spots.

"Say, Brittz, we're close to Richfield, right? Mind if we check out the houses?" She asks with some hope. "The grass is so green it soothes my soul."

"Now?" Brittany responds, not finding that route nearly as fun as the highway where she can speed more.

"Yeah," Santana perks up a little, "One day I'm going to buy a house there just for the principle of it, we don't even have to live in it, I just want to own it."

"You're a total weirdo."

"Oh really? And who out of us kept singing about 'I'm a kitty cat, I'm a kitty cat, and I dance dance dance and I dance dance dance' in the shower?"

"You sang it wrong. And my weirdness has nothing on buying a house and not living in it."

"But you don't like Richfield," Santana says casually, "So we wouldn't live there."

Brittany takes a left and drives into Richfield – a kind of upper class neighbourhood Santana loved a lot and Brittany didn't love at all. Houses here were mansion-like estates, but held a beauty of maintained uniqueness. It was a gorgeous neighbourhood, but Brittany found the pre-established mentality of rich white dads off-putting.

People who lived there did so based off old money family names. The big mansions in the centre were the ones Santana liked looking at (because of the green, green grass) – and Brittany knows that someone like Santana who always wanted better for herself was inevitably going to succeed in getting a house here.

Would living there be so bad, though? She's always disliked the idea of pretentious old money families who have privilege. She was raised with privilege but Richfield was a whole other kind of privilege. She would love for Santana to have her dream house.

"That garden though," Santana says in appreciation of someone's front lawn. "The fountain looks stupid but otherwise I love it."

Brittany stares at the estates as they slowly drive around within the residential speed limit. Richfield suited Santana, and Santana really liked this part of town because of the 'serenity' as she called it. It was quiet, one of the safest, and even had it's own mayor which was made it a small town more than a neighbourhood.

Brittany realizes she actually was willing to give the place a try, even though she disliked the whole snobby attitude of the community ever since she was little (where girls she went to school with tried to date Richfield boys and fit into the high society bullshit, cough Joanna cough).

If Santana liked it… yes, she was at least willing to give it a try. And she wouldn't mind moving to Richfield and disrupting the whole Stepford vibe it had with some style.

"Sepp would like Richfield High," Santana mentions offhandedly. "More than boarding school. I could probably get him a spot."

Brittany agreed with Sepp liking it, he would fit in really well there and would be of age to get into ninth grade after the summer. She knew he especially wanted to go to school with Jeremy Pearsons, Joanna Pearsons' son, who lived in Richfield and attended the Richfield prep schools.

Joanna's husband was one of the old money families, so when his parents passed away they inherited the Pearsons mansion – on the place they were just driving by.

Santana's phone goes off again, this time a call, and she answers it. Brittany's eye catches sight of that very creepy, haunted looking house with a great size of land. It was nearby Joanna and Joanna was always complaining about how unsightly it was. It was privately owned – and she had an odd thought.

No one sold in Richfield, probably not even whoever owned that creepy house, but it had been unlived in for _ages_ and there was no harm in investigating, right?

Maybe it was the whole psychology of possibly being with child very soon, but with Santana's voice murmuring next to her (and quietly calming down a client who was grieving the death of a loved one) as her Audi zoomed right by the property, something just _clicked_ in her mind that she should look up the place.

They get home and Santana gives her apologetic eyes before continuing her phone call on from the couch. Brittany gets out her laptop while Santana is preoccupied and looks up the address, 603 North Richfield.

Some old news headlines about an unfortunate fire show up. Brittany remembers some of the rumours about the fire – arson by a jealous blue-collar lover of the family's only daughter.

After searching the family history in Richfield archives, she finds that the property is listed to the widowed husband who allegedly got cheated on by his wife who burned in the fire. He lived in Texas now but his information wasn't listed. Within a minute of digging around Texas addresses, she finds his phone number.

She looks at Santana who is rubbing her temples and telling whoever is on the phone to _stop talking_ and _listen_, and Brittany grabs their landline before phoning the guy.

She speaks with him for only ten minutes and he's totally open to selling – apparently wanting fairer market price, which the Richfield community was trying to rob him of. He gives her the number for his realtor and quotes her a down payment.

"Brittany," Santana comes into the bedroom and yawns, "what do you want for dinner?"

"What are you doing tomorrow at ten?" Brittany asks with an excited smile.

Santana sits down on the bed next to her, "just um, going to the gym remember? And then hair and then Sepp. Why?"

She says it very quickly like she did before but Brittany is too excited to notice.

"After the gym can you spare maybe half an hour, say nine in the morning?"

"Yeah, sure," Santana says, curiously. "Why would you be up at nine in the morning on a Sunday? Why would you be up at nine in the morning, ever?"

"Wait for it… wait for it… I might have found you the Richfield house. We can check it out."

/

Brittany frowns at the rotting wood on the porch of the small house. This place was depressing and smelt funny, but this was the place. She was sure of it. Even though it looked even more horrid up close than from afar, she had a good feeling about making it work.

And today was Santana's birthday, so she was especially sure of it.

"I love it." Her smile is bright in the sunny day, and she's not deterred by the chilly weather that is making this realtor keep rubbing his hands together impatiently.

The realtor, Justin Berkley, who had not stopped looking at her like she was on crack, spoke like this was a waste of time.

"No one's buying it in this economy and the seller is getting pretty desperate he's been posting ads spontaneously but everyone wants him to lower the price which he refuses to do – it's always been a bad luck property. Are you sure you don't want to look at the cute houses on Remington in the suburb not far from here? It's no Richfield, but properties are way hotter there, more for less, and I got an in on one four-bedroom-three-bathroom beauty."

Brittany turns to him with a passive glance, "my parents live on Remington. I grew up there, so I'm not really wanting to raise my own kids there. I'd prefer this neighbourhood specifically."

"Oh…" he awkwardly stares at her and her determination to purchase the most unsightly property known in his years for a price that was way too expensive for what it was worth – in his opinion. He didn't understand why the guy refused the community's offer, no one else (until this weird blonde) had offered what he wanted.

"Does the owner know you send people who want to buy his house away?"

This causes the realtor to splutter, "T-There's rumours of it being haunted, Mrs. Lopez. There's a reason no one wants to buy it, and the Richfield community is also proposing the land be mowed down and built into a water fountain or something but the owner wants to sell it privately first, he gets more money that way. I'm looking out for him and you're not the first person to be interested. Someone always says yes to me and then tries to make some deal and he gets annoyed."

"Well, I'm not superstitious so the haunted thing is cool. Plus, we're probably going to tear it down and build it up again. We're fine with the asking price, I've already spoken with Mr. Owner personally, _he's_ the one who gave me your number."

She gives him an unimpressed look. She already said that, didn't she?

From the surprise on his face, apparently not.

"Oh?" he looks at her differently now, more seriously with the knowledge that she had spoken directly to his charge, "your husband into that stuff? If you rebuild it I know some -"

"Wife." Brittany says to him to make him stop talking.

He makes another stunned face and says, "oh."

A car door is heard slamming shut, and Santana is walking up the non-existent driveway as the cab that dropped her there with her workbag and gym bag drives off. She's still in gym clothes from the morning – which makes Brittany frown because Santana is usually showered and changed after the gym - and lifts her aviators into her hair when she's finished walking up the porch steps and greets them both by saying, "this place is nastier up close. And it smells."

Brittany is undeterred with that first impression, she did have the same one after all. The realtor shoots her a smug smile like he thinks Brittany's plan to buy has fallen through and that makes him right, and Brittany hates him.

She knows that Santana has vision. It's one of the things she's always liked most about her, so she pitches the vision.

"This guy sucks at his job, don't listen to him," she whispers lowly to Santana before saying more audibly. "It needs a good renovation but… something about it just…"

Santana still isn't impressed, but she gives it a moment and looks from Brittany back to the 'haunted' house.

"Babe, this isn't really what I meant when I said buy a house in Richfield. I wanted one of them big-ass mansions, you know? With green grass, not weed galore."

"This can be made into a big-ass mansion."

"The land needs to be gardened with a _chainsaw_. It needs a hell of a lot of renovation. It needs a…" Santana stares at it and her words teeter off. She takes the view in more seriously now.

"How much is it again?" Santana mumbles, now as if in a trance.

Brittany shoots Justin a smirk.

"So we tear it down, build a custom house, landscape…" Santana suddenly gets perky right on cue, "oh my god, I totally see it! And we can get a circle driveway, I love circle driveways. You don't have to back out of circle driveways."

"Yes. And happy birthday to you-" she kisses Santana's cheek, "-we buy this place and you can get all your weird home and garden fantasies out of your system."

Santana's smile is very excited now, "I totally see it. Happy birthday me. Awesome. How has no one else thought of this? This is perfect."

"We got the down payment ready to go," Brittany says to Justin, a smile creeping up on her lips, glad she did something right.

"Sweet," Santana says to her when the realtor picks up the phone to call the owner and set up the money transfer, walking away from them. "Thank you, Brittany."

She feels proud of herself when she sees Santana eagerly start to brainstorm the property, but frowns when she realizes Santana smelt nothing like the gym when they shared a hug and quick 'we are totally buying a house' kiss.

"You went to the gym right?" She sneakily takes a sniff and – yep – no gym sweat at all.

"Yeah," Santana says flippantly, not making eye contact with her by pulling her aviators back down

Brittany tries not to think about it too much. It wasn't a lie, but it wasn't the truth.

"Let's grab some celebration lunch while the bank does the transfer," Santana offers, as they head back to the Audi.

Throughout lunch, Brittany forgets about Santana's curious fib when her wife chats about in excitement for their new house and all of the ideas she has. Santana leaves for her hair appointment, still in her non-sweaty gym clothes, and Brittany goes to see Quinn who keeps whining about making time for each other to get the fact that Santana was hiding something from her off of her mind.

/

"Wow."

"Yeah," Brittany says dreamily, still able to feel the sand in her toes from the image she was looking at, and the feeling of euphoria when she snapped that photo. A lot of that euphoria had to do with Santana's bikini-beach profile at the time. It was Maxim level hot.

"WOW," Quinn says again, when the next picture of a sunset and Santana (again) with windblown hair in the corner captures every beauty Brittany saw in that moment.

"It was pretty awesome," Brittany agrees with Quinn who is flicking through the photos on Brittany's Macbook, her jaw dropping further every now and then.

"I mean, there's way too many photos of Santana in a bikini and her body is stupidly well proportioned and more toned than you'd think, but… holy shit." She groans in envy and closes the laptop shut.

"That's Hawaii for you," Brittany takes a sip from the mug of weird tea her cousin had given her while she visited.

"No, _everywhere_ you guys went," Quinn starts rummaging through her fridge for a snack to make them.

"Oh, yeah. Hot tubs in the Swiss Alps, she loves hot tubs. I also now love hot tubs because we had so many hot tub make out sessions-"

"TMI!" Quinn closes the fridge with her back and dumps some cold cuts on the kitchen table.

"It's a honeymoon, Quinn, that's what the whole purpose is for honeymoons. Sex. You're the one who asked."

Usually she would tell her little sister about the great sex, but Gracie was celibate now and Brittany tried to help by keeping sex talk more PG. Or non-existent. These days they talked about everything except sex and Brittany actually liked it – her sister was really clever and she enjoyed their anthropological conversations. Or their _So You Think You Can Dance_ conversations.

"I asked for tales of food and scenery – not the 'where Brittana did the nasty' list. Honeymoons are private vacations you take with your newlywed to get to know them better. I'm sure you didn't just have sex all the time."

"Honeymoons are all about intimacy and seclusion. That's a system for sex, Quinn. And that's how you get to know them better, I mean I don't know how you and Mike do it but sex is a trust-building special connection… and it's fun."

"Whatever," Quinn says with a blush. She's still every bit the prude in comparison to Brittany. "Those Greece photos, though. Ugh. I want to go there. I'm happy for you, you hit up a lot of that list you made when we were seniors in high school and our parents were making us pick college and you said you'd rather travel. God, they were so mad you when you flew to Germany with Gwen and Kyle."

Gwen and Kyle were her best friends in high school, along with Tina. She hadn't seen or heard from them (or thought about them, oops) in years because when they went back home after their Germany beer trip, the two of them went to college and slowly fell out of touch with her because of the distance. That and Brittany lost her phone and got a new number.

Actually, she totally should have invited them to her wedding and looked them up. Now she felt kind of bad.

Then again, they knew where she lived as well. They could have looked her up.

"Thanks," Brittany smiles at her cousin, "it was a dream come true. Thanks to dating Santana in the first place I had so much travel money saved up, you know?"

Quinn laughs at Brittany's joke and then lets out a yawn before asking, "what was your fav place you visited?"

"Ohhh… um, Hong Kong. It was like I took mushrooms there was so much shit going on. And Santana had this translator on her smart phone to speak Mandarin but they speak Cantonese there so this ninety-year-old Chinese woman gave her the middle finger. I wish I caught it on video, it was so funny!"

Quinn laughs with her cousin at the image of Santana being flipped off, happy to see the happiness Brittany had reminiscing her long, wonderful honeymoon of globetrotting. Sure Quinn was envious, but her happiness for her free-soul cousin outweighed that.

Seeing Brittany achieve things she'd set out to do in life ever since Quinn had known her made Quinn feel more capable as well, like it was her time to achieve more soon too.

"But there was that Chinese guy in the photos with you that you guys hired, right? Didn't he translate?"

"Yeah, yeah. Tuen. He was cool, he's a med student and took us around on tour. We didn't hire him though, the travel agent did. You know how Santana is, she needed to research every place we visited and have emergency plans in case our safety was threatened. And she didn't like Tuen because he kept recommending food she thought was gross. I loved the food though."

"What do you mean emergency plans?" Quinn asks with some malicious interest, hoping it was teasing material. She needed more things to make fun of her old roommate with because in the insult game Santana was ahead of everyone. "Please tell me she had, I don't know, like a fanny pack with first aid – she had three first aid kits in our apartment, you know. One in the kitchen, one in the bathroom, and one in her closet."

Quinn smiles fondly at the memory, it was one of the few things she had known about Santana before when they had been roommates. She knew her a lot better now that Santana was married to Brittany and not always in her room studying. Wow, that time of her life felt distant and Quinn felt old all of a sudden.

Brittany pouts at Quinn, "why are you obsessed with teasing her? She may insist we have a lot of first aid kits but she's a total babe… and she would never wear a fanny pack."

Quinn giggles.

"She was more about," Brittany says with some exasperation at her giggling cousin, "like, offshore accounts and addresses of embassies and this stupid GPS tracker she made us wear in case we got separated."

"That's sweet and very smart," Quinn stops giggling, finding it sweet.

"Well, the GPS needed specialized batteries to be charged and she forgot it so it was useless. But, yeah, I traded them for some silk scarves in India so it was handy to have. She's a great travel companion that way. And she'd be a great mo-" Brittany clamps her mouth shut before finishing the word 'mother,' pretending to cough on the tea. She glances up at her cousin to see if Quinn caught it. But Quinn is busy with her own thoughts and Brittany consciously touches her stomach and wonders for the hundredth time that day if she was pregnant. She had been inseminated yesterday, and the thought would hit her at the random-est of times.

Like last night after she told Santana about the Richfield house. They made out on the couch and things would have usually escalated, except they remembered the possible pregnancy and decided to just cuddle instead. It killed the mood a little, thinking about being inseminated.

But, tonight she was totally going to rock Santana's world. She had a plan: a bath, candles, a playlist, and that champagne Santana liked best. Done.

Quinn makes a noise in her throat and shares nervously, "Mike wants me to go visit his extended family in China. I could use an interpreter, maybe pass me that Tuen guy's info? Mike has an Aunt and five cousins in Hong Kong, and his mom goes back every summer to see them. They've invited me to go… that's serious, right?"

"You sound… kind of blaze about it."

"You mean blasé?"

"Yeah. What's up? His abs starting to loose their cut? Your balcony not quite catching the sunset like it used to?"

Quinn sighs, narrowing her eyes at Brittany's jokes and fighting the urge to laugh. "More like I can't tell if he's the guy I should have children with or not. How do you tell?"

"Well, there's this moment when things just click and you realize that you actually feel bad when your cat pees on their shoes and when you kiss them it's really hard to stop kissing them because the kisses are what kissing is, everything before that was not a kiss. It was a miss. Ya feel me?"

"Ugh. I'm so fucking jealous of you, getting a six-month honeymoon with someone you're so sure is _it_. You've got this tan and you're all glowing and a shining beacon of hope that true love exists. It's exhausting to look at you."

"And I'm pregnant."

"- and you're – WAIT. WHAT?"

"Psych. But seriously, I will be pregnant pretty soon."

"Pretty soon? What do you mean 'pretty soon'?"

Brittany gives Quinn a 'duh, put it together' look and then Quinn's eyes grow even wider.

"Wow. A baby? Seriously? You guys are going to have a baby? _Wait, what? _What?!"

"We had a meeting at the fertility clinic yesterday, and I got inseminated like, on the spot. I won't know yet if it worked but I'm hoping it did. I'm pretty sure it did... or that tea you made me drink is that gross."

Quinn blinks slowly, "wooooow. You're going to be a _mom_. Hell, _Santana Lopez_ is going to be a mom with you. You're going to be moms _together_."

"I know, right? Stop saying 'wow' it's losing its tang."

"Sorry, - wow - sorry… well, at least we know Santana is going to be a great mother, what with first aid measures and emergency plans… she's a provider all right."

The comment touches Brittany a lot – she only wishes Santana had heard it. When Brittany smiles brightly and stands up, Quinn mouths 'wow' one more time before following her.

"Do Aunt Susan and Uncle Horton know?"

"Nope. I'm telling them tonight. Mom invited us over for dinner and Santana and I bought a house so we need to tell them about that too..."

"You bought a house? When?"

"Signed the papers before I came over."

"Wo- Where? Not some other city I hope?"

"No, here. In… Richfield." She mumbles it out quietly, but Quinn definitely heard her.

Quinn stares at her.

Brittany awkwardly toys with her t-shirt before shrugging at her cousin's accusatory eyes.

"YOU bought a house in Richfield? Okay, Brittany, are you sure you're not in way over your head? You scoff at Richfield. _Joanna_ lives in Richfield. You were one of the kids who used to T-P Richfield trees with enthusiasm because of your bourgeoisie phase."

"My what now?"

"Richfield," Quinn iterates again, still in disbelief. "How did you even get a house there? I heard there's a waitlist! Who are you, the Brittany I know literally once said she'd never live there."

"I know, the irony does not escape me," Brittany says with a smirk, raising an eyebrow at Quinn's very blown up reaction to her new house.

"How much does a property cost there nowadays? Seriously, you guys seem to be rolling in the dough."

"Enough about my hypocritical tendencies now that I have a Santana – Let's talk about why you're really freaking out."

"Why am I really freaking out?"

"In my opinion, I think you're feeling your youth slip away and seeing me settle down all suburban makes you realize you're next. We'll be suburban homies."

"Oh fuck you, you old lady!" Quinn laughs and teases her cousin, "Having babies and living in Richfield – _such_ a disgrace! What are you doing tonight for your Richfield wife's birthday?"

"Dinner at home. You and Mike should join us."

"… I'm only going to rant about it one more time but, Richfield house for her birthday? What's next, a yacht? Santana has expensive taste, Brittany."

"I know," Brittany drawls out, "but I love her anyways. Dinner? You know mom likes a heads up."

Quinn hums, now fully calmed down from the slap of 'Brittany is going to live in Richfield what the fuck' and says, "I'd love to eat Aunt Susan's _anything_, but Mike made reservations at some fancy restaurant that had a waiting list so I'll pass. But I bought Santana a gift – from me and Mike – can you pass it along for me? I thought she'd join us when you said you were coming over, I feel kind of bad not giving it personally."

"I'm sure she'll love it at least a little," Brittany says to her cousin. "She would have come over, but she got so excited about the house and all the renovations she gets to come up with that she was too into researching architects and stuff. And she went to go pick up Sepp. It's been a productive morning – this is why I prefer sleeping in."

"Well, have a nice dinner," Quinn walks Brittany out of the door and hands her the wrapped gift for Santana.

They hug and Britt says, "you too."

/

"That smells great," Santana announces with a soft smile in her mother-in-law's direction. The woman was being all frantic in order to have things be nice, since they decided a quiet evening in was more than enough to celebrate Santana's birthday. After dinner, it would be just her and her Britt-Britt and some birthday sex.

The dinner request was also an opportunity for Brittany to talk about their baby plans, but any meal cooked by her talented chef of a mother-in-law was a bonus in Santana's opinion.

Susan lets out an agreeing sound while moving the glazed salmon pieces onto a serving tray, "you should be sitting down hun, no help needed from the birthday girl. Did they set the table?"

"Yeah," Santana helps a little bit anyways, grabbing the salad bowl and heading back out to the dining room.

"Is Brittany alright?" Horton whispers to Santana, a pointed glance at his oldest daughter's unusually solemn mood.

"Yeah she's just deep in thought," Santana excuses. Brittany had been confident about telling her parents the recent news… until they stepped into the house and then she seemed to start stressing out.

He seems to accept her explanation and goes about pouring wine for everyone -except Brittany and Sepp who requested Dr. Pepper, so he cracks a can open and pours it in their wine glasses.

Santana notices Sepp looking both immensely bored and worried from where he sat next to Brittany. Brittany would usually be engaging him in conversation or listening to his latest video game adventure, so he knew something was up. His boarding school was two hours away and he had some school trip, which kept him away for Friday and Saturday when they usually picked him up or visited him. She went after her hair appointment to collect him for dinner and the night, since Monday was a long weekend holiday.

He had spent all his holidays and occasional weekends with the Pierces while she and Brittany were on their honeymoon and she was glad to see him more confident and talkative – a far cry from the boy she first met. On the drive over, she had told him about the house and the baby – mentioned Richfield High. He wasted no time in asking if that meant he could go there, and she felt pleased that he was on board with her own hopes.

"Britt," Santana takes her by the hand and guides her to the side for some privacy to whisper, "we can always tell them later. You're clearly nervous and we aren't sure the attempt worked-"

"But I need to tell them we're attempting. They should know, right?" Brittany whispers back.

"Okay," Santana responds easily. She preferred telling them today, she just also understood that Brittany was panicky and needed the reassurance.

"You told Sepp, right? Like, warned him and stuff so he knows what's happening?"

"Yes."

Brittany nods and then brings her short nails to her teeth and frowns, looking off into space.

"Santana?" Sepp asks her and approaches them, timidly checking to see if Brittany would snap out of her daydream.

"She's just preparing her speech," Santana puts a hand on his shoulder.

"What speech?" He asks.

"Remember that thing I told you in the car?" She asks it quietly so as not be overheard. She had spoken to him before, because he was only thirteen and not even her legal son… yet… and she wanted him to be prepared so he wouldn't feel out of place.

"About Richfield?"

"That and about," she leans down to say in his ear, "pregnancy."

His eyes bulge, "Ohhhhh yeah."

They share a laugh – she knows he's enjoying being the only one who knows about the secret. When she had picked him up from the bus stop for his night visit from boarding school (which was a fifty minute bus drive away) to celebrate her birthday, he ended up being the first person she told and it eased her nerves in return. He responded well, being curious and happy, and then giving her a birthday card he made for her with supplies the art teacher let him use before going to Jeremy's house for a couple of hours to play some video game. Brittany apparently dished out their baby plans to Quinn earlier, and with a baby and a house and Sepp visiting and her birthday - Santana was feeling weird.

Weird enough that instead of working out at the gym today… she secretly went to see a fucking therapist. Granted, she just kind of sat in his office and reflected quietly on her parental capabilities while he awkwardly waited her to speak, but she went nonetheless and was probably going to go again. And she kept it from Brittany because… there really was no reason. She'd tell her soon, maybe after Brittany told her family about the pregnancy situation.

"Brittany, are you okay?" Sepp asks Brittany, keeping up their whispering game so the other three Pierces don't overhear them.

"I think so," Brittany tells him. "Just… usually when I tell them my life plans they don't agree. Like how I didn't go to college or how I dated women… I mean, I know they want grandchildren but I still don't know if they'll be comfortable with this."

Basically, whenever she wanted something her parents disagreed with it.

Santana was pretty certain everything would be fine and, apart from Gracie screaming the way she does when she gets ecstatic, Santana was sure nothing but support would be given. She didn't particularly get why Brittany was nervous now that everything had already been set in motion and Brittany hadn't been remotely nervous when orchestrating doctors appointments and signing off paperwork with certainty (and basically showing how much she was looking forward to her future by literally cart-wheeling at the thought of a baby in Amsterdam).

It was odd seeing Brittany lacking courage to do something, but she knew that Brittany had some lingering feelings from growing up, feelings about how she wasn't living up to her parent's expectations – especially since they were upset with her skipping college more than anything - and those kinds of doubts don't just disappear even though her parents had gotten over it eventually.

Santana didn't really like that anyone – even Brittany's parents – had ever tried to hold her back from being liberated.

"Hey," Santana kisses Brittany's cheek and then winks at Sepp, "they love Sepp for reasons unknown-"

"Hey!" he says, knowing she was teasing him.

Santana sticks her tongue out at him, "-so I'm sure they'll be on board."

"Yeah. Mrs. Pierce was all mushy with a baby when we went grocery shopping," Sepp adds, "She loves babies."

Brittany smiles at them both before taking a deep breath.

Santana leans in to whisper again, "you've got this. Maybe cover your ears so Gracie's inevitable scream doesn't blow an eardrum, but I think they are going to be happy."

Brittany laughs and kisses her cheek before heading back to the table.

Santana puts her arm around Sepp's shoulders as they both walk back to the table too, eyeing a still tense but not as tense Brittany.

"So. How was your time at Jeremy's house?" She asks him.

"… um…"

"What's up?"

She is incredibly hungry and eager to eat as Susan finally comes out of the kitchen with the main dish to set out. The sound of it thunking down makes Brittany jolt a little and Santana and Sepp take their seats.

"Is it really illegal to steal someone's mail?" Sepp asks Santana.

Santana responds first, "If you take and open it knowing it's not yours, yes. If it's already opened, though, nah...why?"

He sinks in relief, "okay good. Because at Jeremy's house, me and Jeremy read some of his parents mail and…"

"Was it left out in the open? Not hidden away?"

"…yeah."

"Then don't worry about it, it was probably an electric bill or something,"

"How did you know that?" His jaw drops in awe. "Woah."

She's amused with his amazement, but Horton steals her attention by rubbing his hands together and making a statement of, "Susan this looks amazing!"

"Yeah mom," Brittany smiles, "Santana's been excited for dinner all day."

Santana nods easily when eyes turn to her, "oohhhh yeah. Thank you for this."

Her stomach was growling for home-cooked deliciousness, specifically that which was made by Susan Pierce.

Susan holds up her glass for a toast, looking very touched. "It was my pleasure, Santana. Having you both back is wonderful, and happy birth – _Gracie_."

She gives her daughter engrossed in tapping out an e-mail a pointed look, and Gracie pouts but finally sets her phone aside.

"Sorry. Work. But yeah, and thanks for all the gifts you brought back!" Gracie adds before correcting herself, "I mean, happy birthday Santana!"

Santana catches her eye and smirks, making Gracie push her phone further away sheepishly.

"Yes, happy birthday!" Horton says at last before they all clink their glasses.

Santana cringes when Brittany lets out a forceful laugh after the toast, which finally clues their family onto the fact that she was nervously shaking her leg up and down.

Even though it was just family, they had a few bombs to drop on them tonight that were life-altering kind of bombs. Santana gives Brittany what she hopes were encouragement eyes, and Sepp snorts into his Dr. Pepper.

"Bree, what's wrong?" Horton asks in concern.

"Um…" Brittany swallows her dry throat and looks at Santana for help.

"Nothing's wrong," Santana says to first ease everyone's worry and give Brittany a moment to collect herself. "She's just nervous to share something…sss. Some_ things_. Britt?"

"I… I… "

Everyone's attention zooms in on Brittany.

"I'm pregnant."

Santana chokes on her next sip.

That was unexpected and not what they rehearsed to say.

"I mean - I'm _going_ to be," Brittany corrects quickly. "Hopefully… Probably. Most likely."

Santana presses the napkin over her mouth, that liquid went down the wrong way. Ow.

There was silence and when Brittany sees her mother open her mouth to comment, she cuts her off with more information in a quick delivery, "and we bought a house and are giving the apartment to Gracie later when we move eventually but yeah, the pregnancy thing."

Santana coughs the last of her wine out and then says in afterthought, "maybe I should have told them."

Brittany gives her a small smile, and then when the information seemed to be absorbed into the brains of their family, Gracie is the first to share her happiness in a shriek.

Santana cringes. Double ow.

"I get the apartment? YES. I'm so happy for you guys, oooooooh my god I'm going to be an Aunt!" She lets out a squealing sound and Brittany's shoulders relax. She can always count on her little sister to be supportive – fact of life.

"Oh, honey," Susan brings her hand up to her chest and her eyes start watering, "this is… this is _wonderful_ news."

"It is, isn't it?" Brittany looks visibly relieved from her mother's joy, her eyes dropping the tense gaze they had been carrying all day.

"Absolutely," Horton whispers, his eyes seeming to have watered as well. "Eh, Sepp?"

"Duh," Sepp says with his preteen bluntness that makes everyone laugh. "Santana told me before but made me keep it a secret."

He was such an attention seeker, but Santana found it hilarious.

There was a happy silence, until Santana clears her throat, "I'm starving, can we..?"

"Oh! Of course," Susan picks up her cutlery and everyone follows suite.

Santana enjoys her meal – even when Gracie shrieks once more time.

/

Bath dates were awesome, Santana loved bath dates. She has only ever had bath dates with one woman – Brittany - and would only ever have bath dates with Brittany, and they were just awesome.

They'd soak in the bubbles, have some candles around, cuddle or not cuddle (right now though there was cuddling). Brittany was lying back against her and Santana was braiding and combing through blonde hair with one hand and sipping champagne with the other. It was a special night due to it being Santana's birthday (and the house and baby thing all happening so fast). Brittany put on a romantic playlist she made when they had been dating, and spoke to her in a throaty voice of promise. It promised a good time and definitely put Santana in the mood to stay naked for the rest of the night.

Santana didn't even glare at Tubbs too much for sitting on the toilet seat and annoying her with his creepy glow eyes because he loved the bathtub (it was his territory) and she enjoyed getting revenge on him by staying in here as long as possible.

"We will need a bigger bathtub in the new place," Brittany says, enjoying her massage.

"We're going to need another car," Santana tells her. "Because I'll have to start driving into the city for work.."

"Yes, but maybe two more cars because I'll need something for family-friendly... And maybe instead of two garages we should have three built at the new house? Because-"

Santana's hand drifts from the wet blonde hair down to massage Brittany's shoulder, listening to her as Brittany rambles on in a droll.

"—I'm so keeping the Audi forever and ever and it will need a special garage that I can keep it in good condition. It'll be like a family heirloom of epic love. I'll tell our legacy children how they were conceived because of that car."

"How were they conceived because of that car?" Santana asks her after a snort of laughter, draining the last of her own glass and then putting it on the small stool nearby before using two hands to massage Brittany's shoulders.

"Because when I drove home I went really fast to make sure gravity helped it stick, you know? Or so you said."

Snickering, Santana kisses Brittany's neck and wraps her arms around Brittany's shoulders, gently molding closer forward.

"Things are going to be so different when Sepp lives with us," Brittany whispers thoughtfully. "And the baby."

The apartment didn't have adequate room for him but the Pierces loved having him over, and Santana never thought she'd want to let this place go but Gracie would love it and take care of it and Santana was eager to move into Richfield soon, assuming construction was mostly done after the summer. It was going to be awesome. She had so many ideas for her dream home.

"We need more money too," she says offhandedly. "This house set us back."

"If we live in Richfield can we not be those shallow money whores? We can live there and keep our souls in tact," Brittany says.

"Yes we can," Santana kisses Brittany's shoulder.

"That's important, I can live there but I won't conform there."

Santana kisses the lips that have turned to tell her this, slow and meaningfully in her own sort of teasing way. Brittany's fingers dig into her recently styled hair to bring her in more, and to her jaw to hold it in place. They kiss for minutes, a new song is on and Brittany turns her body around when Santana tries to cup a boob in her growing excitement. Madonna's _Justify My Lov_e was on, she couldn't help herself.

"Why don't you dry off and go to bed, birthday girl? I have a surprise for you before… _that_." Brittany gives her a sensual kiss, soft and tongue-tormentingly heavy.

Santana's smile is large, a little shy and a lot excited when Brittany backs out of the kiss and then steps out of the tub.

But, the landline starts to ring.

"Ugh. What the fuck?" She steps out of the bath and grabs the nearby fluffy towel, wrapping it around her breasts before going to the apartment hall where the phone was.

Brittany follows her because no one ever phoned on that line except the building maintenance like that time they had to do a cautionary evacuation and were warning the residents. If this was another evacuation, the timing could not be worse.

"Hello?" She picks up the phone and glances back at Brittany who takes this moment to turn off the TV they accidentally left on, as well as the kitchen lights. She fills a couple of glasses with water, too, making Santana's cheeks flush.

She got thirsty after sex and had a feeling Brittany was pouring both glasses for _her_ alone. There was _some_ birthday present about to happen and she held on to the towel tighter.

"Is this the residence of Santana Soledad Lopez?"

The use of her middle name – a name she has not heard uttered by anyone except her grandmother when Santana was being scolded – makes her body go cold. She has a logical thought and it doesn't leave her mind.

"Yes… this is Santana."

"Oh, hello. My name is Father Cecilio Ortez, of the North Heights Adjacent Church."

North Heights Adjacent Church. Abuela's church. The church she used to go to for Sunday School.

"I'm sorry to inform you, Santana, but-"

"She's dead. Abuelita is dead?" She says it before he can, because that sinking feeling in her stomach knew exactly what this call was for as soon as he spoke her name.

On her birthday, of all days.

She feels a hand on her shoulder, soft and warm, and turns to look at Brittany's understanding face. Brittany gives her a sad smile and offers gently, "Should I?"

Nodding gratefully since she realizes he's speaking to her but she's got tears trying to leak out of her eyes and can't really listen, Santana hands the phone over and goes to collapse on her couch.

Holy shit.

The woman would be eighty by now, and Santana hasn't seen or spoken to her in fifteen years since she was told to _get out_ of that house.

"Thank you for calling," she hears Brittany say softly before hanging up.

Next thing she knows, her teary and shocked face is pressed to Brittany's towel, and a soft hand is rubbing between her shoulders gently.

She leans back up maybe five minutes later, wiping her face of any trace of tears. She just sighs. "What did he say?"

"He said she prearranged for her funeral with the church. She passed away this morning… he also said that he had also phoned her daughter-"

Santana feels anger build up inside her and she fails to hide it from Brittany who puts a hand to her warm cheek.

"—because, Santana, she wrote you both letters and… I don't know what she wrote but he says the burial is tomorrow at noon."

Santana feels most of her rage crumble the longer she stares at Brittany. After a moment she says, "is it… alright if we go?"

"Absolutely," Brittany says, soothingly, "it's a three hour drive so, let's just… Um, let's go to bed and rest up? We'll leave in the morning."

Letting herself be led to the bedroom, Santana puts on her nightgown and slips under the covers after thoughtfully brushing her teeth. She shoots Becky a 'no work tomorrow' text and closes her eyes to try to get a grip on herself, or at least fall asleep.

Becky responds quickly with a 'you told me I had tomorrow off anyways, it's a long weekend holiday' which makes her roll her eyes at herself. A minute later Becky texts again 'happy birthday loser' which reminds her of the situation.

She was sad, yeah, but she did not want to cry. She cried a little already and now it was just business. She had been through worse things in life than losing a woman who gave up on her. Well, that actually might be the worst thing in her life.

Ugh.

She relaxes when Brittany joins her in bed, cuddling into her back after setting an alarm. She's able to fall asleep pretty fast, then.

/

In the morning, she remembers her grandmother is dead because Brittany is awake before her – which never happens. Brittany has a small suitcase packed for them and Santana hears voices in the kitchen. She recognizes Gracie's unique ringtone of that annoying high-pitched ping and then quickly gets dressed when she notices the time. It was six in the morning and to get to the small town she grew up in it was three and a half hours away by car.

The thing about getting over her anger issues was that she had to always be aware of them and what might trigger them. The thought of her grandmother leaving her a letter without ever speaking to her since their last meeting… it made her very angry.

She puts on a black dress and isn't really surprised when her in-laws are all there, in black.

"Is it okay if we come?" Susan asks Santana timidly, putting a hand on her shoulder.

"Um, yeah, yeah," Santana says, finding that them going with her will help her keep a cool head about the situation. "Where's Sepp?"

"Still sleeping. Quinn is at the house until we get back."

"I can drive," Horton offers.

"Thanks dad but we'll take two cars, not sure how long we'll have to be there," Brittany reminds him before turning to Santana, "you want something to eat?"

Clearing her throat, Santana nods and grabs some bread to put in the toaster.

"Am I the only one eating?" She asks it to ease the tension she sees in the Pierces. They haven't been so shy in her apartment since the first time they stayed there. Usually they help themselves, they even got her more dishes and mugs to accommodate them.

She gets odd looks of sympathy from the three in-laws that make her feel a little self-conscious, but Brittany snaps everyone into attention with talking.

"No, let's _all_ eat. I made coffee."

Everyone eats and Santana feels the silence get incredibly awkward, since during a meal with her in-laws it was usually kept entertained with Gracie and Brittany and Horton chatting away, and Sepp's rants about his math teacher. There's only the crunched chewing of everyone standing in the kitchen nibbling on toast with occasional sipping of coffee, and she wonders if she's grieving or relieved this morning.

/

On the drive out, with Brittany's dad, Susan, and Gracie following in the car behind them, Santana is able to start talking and ask Brittany questions.

"I wonder how she died – did he say? I don't remember him saying…"

"He just said she didn't wake up from sleep," Brittany says gently. "And there won't be an autopsy, her heart was weak so she was expecting it."

"That's good since she never wanted to get super old or whatever and be a brittle old lady… you know, she gave me the middle name Soledad."

"It doesn't suit you at all, no offense."

"I hate it. She gave it to me because it's another name for The Virgin Mary. Get this, okay, my mom was a sinful slutty whore who had me out of wedlock in Abuela's eyes, so she gave me The Virgin Mary's name to ensure I never spread my legs like my mom… and I had to have The Virgin Mary hanging in my bedroom."

Brittany has never heard her talk about this before. She's told Brittany a lot about her grandmother because Brittany is the only one she has ever felt comfortable sharing anything with. When they started dating she was the first person Santana _ever_ told about being disowned. And she still was, actually.

She was always suspicious, since getting engaged to Brittany, that Susan especially was dying to ask her about her family. For a while they thought Santana was an orphan and were curious to know more but by now they knew she was a disowned victim and that was because Brittany told them so they'd back off and Santana wouldn't have to field family questions from them. They always respected that, but maybe the lack of information was why they had been so tense. They had no way of knowing how she felt about this situation.

"Your parents were looking at me all funny."

"They don't understand this, is all… They've never been disowned and traumatized by the person most important to them. They probably expected you to be sadder."

Santana snorts.

Brittany gives her a sad smile before looking back at the road, "do you want to talk about it? How you're actually feeling?"

How she's ninety shades of anger? Not yet.

"I've not spoken to her for half my life," Santana says, "There's only so much you can grieve someone who hates you, you know? She's gone as in dead, sure, but she's been gone longer than that."

Brittany asks another question, "is this Church anti-gay? Just want to prepare myself."

"I don't know babe. I mean, that guy invited us and I'm sure he knows I'm gay because Abuela probably told him aaaaaall about her terrible luck with family to pray it won't affect her entrance into heaven, but I suspect he's after money. He'll try to get me to donate or something… which we are so not doing, okay?"

"Okay."

"Okay. Let's talk about something else. I'm pissed off, I could use a distraction."

"Want to talk about how you never went to the gym yesterday, but you didn't lie about going _to_ the gym."

Santana says guiltily, "I'm… yeah, I did go to the gym _building_ I just didn't work out… er…"

"Santana – I know there's an office tech company and a psychologist practice in the same building. Either you're trying some office tech on the D-L or you're seeing a psychologist. Maybe telling them how you regret marrying into a blonde family?"

The tease makes Santana's mood lift just a little, and she confesses.

"Ding ding. Psychologist. But before you freak out on me it's not what you think-"

"I'm not freaking out," Brittany promises. "It's been quite a weekend. This is what people call whirlwinds, right? We spent more money this weekend than we did six months traveling and then bam! Your estranged grandmother just up and dies."

"Just, the _woman_ whose funeral we're attending? She's the reason I booked the appointment, okay? She's the only parental figure in my life – _was_ the only parental figure in my life. I just wanted to make sure I'm prepared for the baby, not suffering some issues that will affect it because I was abandoned, you know?"

"And now she's dead and it makes everything messier?"

"Exactly. So I'm probably going to go back to the psychologist because her timing is shit."

"So you wanted to make sure you were mentally stable to have kids so you lied about going to the gym and went to see a psychologist in the gym building in your gym clothes."

"… when you put it like that, it makes it sound foolish."

"Well… just a little. You could have asked me or told me," Brittany says seriously. "But do what you got to do. If gym clothes help."

Within another hour, they've made it to North Heights Adjacent and Santana feels the nostalgia. She lived here in her childhood.

"I came here for a school field trip before," Brittany says in memory, "I remember that weird 'Welcome' statue. Is that a frog or what?"

"No one knows."

They pull up outside the Church just before twelve, having time it well.

There are maybe fifty people dressed in black for the funeral and Santana recognizes none.

The service goes on, all done by the Priest. He reads passages requested by Santana's grandmother and talks about death. He never mentions Santana or her parents – and Santana looks around the church but doesn't see anyone who might possibly be her mother.

Figures.

She catches Gracie and Brittany trying not to laugh when the man in front of them's toupee starts sliding off his head. She bites her lips so she too doesn't burst into laughter. Horton and Susan go to church pretty often, but she catches Horton rolls his eyes once and Susan look mildly offended at the part when the Priest talked about heaven and sin.

When the service is over, Santana watches as the closed casket of her Abuela is buried in the Church's graveyard. She's kind of at peace then, and knows that despite everything her Abuela is ending up right where she wanted to be which was kind of nice (even though she resents this church and blames a lot of her grandmother's behaviour on it).

"You must be Santana," the Priest notices her hanging around, the last of the funeral attendees.

"Yes," Santana keeps her hands in her coat's pockets. "So. The letter?"

He smiles stiffly and pulls it out of the folder in his hands.

"Did my…" she has hardly ever used the word in her life so it rolls off strangely, "_mother_ come by?"

"No. I was unable to locate her." He then hands her a second envelope. "Maybe you can."

Then he hands her some keys, which she recognizes as her grandmother's house keys. Her deceased grandfather's face was on the locket on the ring.

"She donated everything to the church," he tells her. Which, Santana is not surprised at all to hear. "But there are lots of things in the house we haven't sorted through yet, maybe some of it is yours? She told me you were free to go inside and whatever you leave behind the church will humbly accept."

"Huh. Thanks." Santana doesn't know why she bothers taking them. She had been so pissed and adamant that she didn't care, but suddenly she kind of cared… to see her old home. Where she was raised.

Then he puts a hand on her shoulder and says, "donating to our church may help you find peace."

He leaves after slipping a business card into her hand and offering a pitiful smile, and she can't help but scowl at his back.

She walks back to where her in-laws and wife were talking amongst themselves and greets them with a nod.

Brittany seems to notice the keys and gives her mom some kind of hard stare that gets translated to 'you guys can go now.'

"Santana," Susan pulls her into a hug, "come by for dinner again later, okay?"

"Um, okay," Santana says, finding the hug to be surprisingly comforting.

Gracie hugs her next, "sorry I laughed at the guy's toupee in there."

"It's okay, I had to bite my tongue to stop from laughing too."

Gracie sighs into her shoulder and releases her from the hug.

Horton gives her a quick hug last of all, "if there's some legal things, I'd be more than happy to take care of it for you."

She doesn't bother telling him her grandmother left her nothing but an envelope and the chance to grab old things from the house.

"Thanks," Santana says, waving them off as they all get in the car and head back.

"So," Brittany takes her hand and leads her to the Audi.

"Up for seeing my childhood home?" Santana asks her, not sure if she was up for it herself.

It was nearby, and they park on the driveway of the small house. It looks the same as it always did, and it was weird for Santana to think that her grandmother was still living in the house until very recently.

She clutches the envelopes in her pocket and raises her head high.

Santana notices that some kids are playing on the small lawn next door where Mrs. Bixby, the lady that she did a lot of gardening chores for, used to live.

She enters the house and Brittany quietly follows her. Every step she takes frustrates her more.

There's a newer TV, but the same old couch. The same floral smell... and that same stupid red pot sitting on the kitchen counter. She doesn't know why she does it, but she flips open every cupboard to glance inside and then, suddenly, she's inspecting everything in every room. Brittany just lets her explore, sticking nearby and observing.

Finally, much later, she's in her old room and it's… the same. There are some dull grey bed sheets on the small twin bed she used to sleep on, and a photo of her when she was five with her super cool blue tricycle that had sparkle handles. Brittany's eyes were the same shade of blue, and being in the room suddenly hurts.

There were still seventeen years worth of memories in this house, where her grandmother looked out for her and loved her, and those years crawl into her skin.

"Santana?"

"Lets find some boxes and pack some of this stuff up," she says quietly, offering Brittany a smile that she knows Brittany doesn't buy for one second.

"Okay."

Brittany nods once more, "I'll go to that post office we passed by, they'll probably have some. Be right back."

She's grateful Brittany offers her a moment of privacy. When the front door closes after Brittany has gone downstairs and left, she collapses on the bed and angrily hurls her photo at the wall, right next to The Virgin Mary. It shatters and she is so damn angry.

Santana hears Brittany come back a few minutes after glaring at her wall. She gets up and goes downstairs to the kitchen. She finds Brittany calmly folding cardboard boxes together, leaning against the counter.

"It is so weird seeing you in this house," Santana says ironically, before walking forward and making to grab a box and help.

Brittany stops her wrist and, with an understanding smile, pulls her in for a hug.

"I'm fine," Santana lies before clutching back tightly, exhaling a lot of personal contempt into Brittany's shoulder.

Brittany hugs her even closer, and Santana closes her eyes. Okay, so she wasn't fine.


	3. Chapter 2

**A/N: **Hey everyooooone (that was my coy 'I know that you know that Brittana are officially engaged' voice). Hope you are doing well and this chapter brings some smiles your way. There may be sappy and some wtf, but over all I think this chapter is a solid Chapter 2. You can totally feel it's 2. You'll know what I mean you read it, you'll think "oh yeah, yeah, this Chapter 2 was definitely Chapter 2 standards"

First of all the rest of this note is to clear the air about the church subject in the last chapter so you can skip this note it if you don't care and would rather read about (**SPOILER ALERT) **Santana's emotional garden in which her issues are being fertilized:

I offended someone in the last chapter, and maybe offended more than just them. To the person who left a review, I just want to point out that I'm aware I identified the priest as 'Father' but never intended to explicitly state a type of religion Santana's Abuela followed – and that was because there are so many sects and variations that I purposefully kept it that way. My intention with this storyline has not been to appear as 'anti-catholic prejudice,' my intention was to call out any kind of religious extreme that makes up their meanings and develops a following and preaches whatever they want to preach. I was hoping from the way Horton and Susan reacted with an eye-roll and mild offense to the Priest would illustrate finding him absurd to their understanding – and the way Santana offhandedly blames the Church for her grandmother's behaviour and refuses to donate – would have implied that the church was not very honourable in her opinion. I should have written that more specifically, perhaps but hoepfully when its brought up in the chapter by Santana her opinion gets the message across. LIt was not at all a generalized church reference nor a dig against catholics, it was a dig at extreme, radical, cult-like thinking of any kind.

In this story, I hoped to infer that the church gave Abuela a social circle and place to be with people who accept and fuel her own moral ideas. She strongly believed in this story that Santana was immoral for being a lesbian. After Santana was kicked out, this church would have given Abuela the excuses she needed to feel justice that she did the right thing.

* * *

><p><strong>That Awkward Moment When 2<strong>

* * *

><p>"You're kidding me."<p>

Santana has had a lot of shit on her plate lately – a _lot_. And no, she's not talking about the shit that is her incredibly fucked up and alienated relationship with one Alma Lopez, now late grandmother resting in peace, and how pissed off she's been because the woman died just like that and apparently closure Santana thought she had achieved with lots of college and hard work to prevail never really was closure.

Well, not _just_ that.

Work is also hectic. Mercedes Jones is being a needy client but surprise, surprise: demands Santana give her undivided attention even though Santana has at least ten other cases going on right now. Cases worth more money (that are a hell of a lot more exciting, too) like April Rhodes trying to patent her alcohol level.

Becky is grumpy because her boyfriend dumped her for being a 'bitchy bitch McBitch' (which Santana thinks is totally valid on his part considering Becky told him 'his down-syndrome eyes were uglier than a walrus's face' before demanding he cook her dinner) and because Santana has kind of started using work to distract herself from angry thoughts and Becky would rather get over being dumped with ice cream and not work (which she vocally reminds Santana of ever fucking hour).

Then there's the _whole_ shit that is therapy. Dr. Martinez wants her to 'open up and talk' but that's very hard, okay? She knows it's healthy to talk, but she does not want to risk blowing up like a hot rage balloon. She can feel her breasts aching with the need to rip into something, and she's _married_ now. She can't be susceptible to emotions like some weak-ass… whatever is weak-ass!

Maybe she should check back into anger management. She never had to talk about her past feelings there, just snap a rubber band on her wrist and listen to theories about her issues, and then learn that cigars had a placebo effect.

Maybe she should just smoke more cigars. She can also pretend cigar smoke is why she keeps feigning being really tired whenever she catches Brittany giving her 'oh honey lets take each others clothes off and bang our headboard' eyes.

But, Brittany. There was Brittany.

Brittany was not frustrating at all – no way – she was just… a reminder that Santana needed to get herself in check because now that her wife was officially confirmed pregnant, it made Santana feel a lot of pressure to get her shit in order and get this anger under control. For the baby, sure, but for the sex too.

Okay, mostly for the baby and the sex a _very_ close second. Priorities of parenting or whatever.

So, this meant having to find a way to open up in therapy because she knows burying her feelings of resentment will not be advantageous in child-rearing (or being able feel sexy enough to hook up with her wife).

So, a lot of shit. A huge pile of problems. Ninety-nine problems of her own fucking doing.

But the icing on the damn shit-cake?

This. This right here.

"I'm afraid not, Mrs. Lopez," is the response.

"He has diabetes." She says it to just confirm that this was not a joke. This was actually happening.

"Yes. Type two."

"The CAT has diabetes." She can't hide the awe in her voice. She knew he was a fat cat but, hell… she kind of wants to laugh.

Okay, so she laughs.

Lord Tubbington was also her cat now because of the sanctity that was marriage – but there was no way she'd get to chuckle about this in the future after telling Brittany, so she had to get it all out of her system now.

Maybe she was just aching to laugh at something, and Lard Flubbington himself developing diabetes? Ha. He would get no sympathy from her.

"Not really surprised, Tubbers was getting fatter every minute. I told you so," she mutters to the cat, the grin growing on her face.

The vet now looks offended for Lord Tubbington, and she lets out a sigh when her laughs subside to resume responsibility. At least this was the kind of shit she could manage easily compared to her mental, redundant stipulations.

And, knowing Brittany will be upset that her beloved cat-companion had diabetes kind of killed how funny she found this to be all of a sudden.

"So, how do we handle it?"

/

"He has diabetes?" Brittany says with a whisper of heavy understanding. She knew he'd been different lately, she was mostly glad he didn't develop Feline AIDS. The street cats he tended to get kitty with were pretty shifty.

"Yeah. But, listen, it's totally manageable. We give him insulin shots and he might even lose all that weight. See? There's a silver lining to all this."

"Yeah I guess," Brittany sighs, "so I'll see you at home?"

"Yep. We just walked into the building."

"Okay... just pet him a little while before you go back to work, you know how he gets after the vet."

"My shoes are safely hidden," Santana says with annoyance before adding, "I'll give him five minutes."

"Thank you, Santana. Love you, see you soon," Brittany hangs up then, and sinks into the park bench next to Mike. "He has diabetes."

"Who has diabetes?" Mike gives her a look, noticing her sad face.

"Lord Tubbington."

"Cats can get that?" He sounds intrigued and even pulls out his phone to research it.

"Guys!" Tina appears in her graduation robes (it's her fourth graduation they've been to after undergrad, grad, masters, and now doctorate) and sits on the other side of Brittany, pulling her cap off. "Thanks for coming to witness my PhD. And thanks for the flowers."

"Dr. Cohen-Chang," Mike offers his hand for a high-five and Tina delivers before turning to Brittany expectedly. "Brittany, why the long face?"

"Lord Tubbington has diabetes," Mike provides before Brittany has to repeat the news. She supports it with a solemn nod.

"Oh. _Well_," Tina's lips quirk – about to make fun – until she realizes Brittany is not finding this funny at all, "—I'm sure he'll be fine. Modern medicine and all that."

After a silent moment, the three of them all let out collective sighs of gloom. It was a celebration of their friend Tina finally _finally_ finishing her college studies, but it felt like they had all blinked and missed their twenties.

"I'm going to propose to Quinn," Mika says with clarity and realization in his voice.

Brittany smiles wryly at him before offhandedly revealing, "I'm a month pregnant. Soon I'll be the birthing a child out of my hipbones."

She looks down at her hips and then frowns.

"I'm pregnant too, Jake's condom broke. We haven't decided what to do with the baby yet…" Tina's shrugs her shoulders passively, "when did we all grow up? I blame Brittany."

"Why me? It was totally Mike."

"Tina's the one who couldn't quit college until now."

They all let out forlorn hums, looking down in their laps.

"I'm going to quit the studio," Mike leans back against the bench, "maybe start my own studio… Maybe even just do something at home. I'd be a great house-husband, actually. Wait, Britt, did you quit? You haven't been back at the studio since you got back."

"I'm pretty sure I forgot about work and since no paycheck came in the mail I was probably let go. That might be because in the excitement of my honeymoon I forgot to give notice, you know?"

"Ah. Right. Work is losing the love of dance, it's all rich kids hanging out now. I feel empty there."

"Well, I finally have a job," Tina turned her body to face her friends, "they offered me professor tenure. I'm going to be in charge of helping shape the minds of future students… and I'm pregnant. I'll be the pregnant professor. What if I go into labour while teaching a class? Can I even teach, I don't know? Shit. Guys, shit."

Brittany nudges her friend. "Um, stick to the curriculum?"

"BUT I'M SUPPOSED TO MAKE THE CURRICULUM!"

"Then make one," Brittany says with annoyance.

"Do you think Quinn will say yes?" Mike asks, turning more to face them.

Brittany leans back and thinks about it.

"Well… she is in love with you, that has to count for something," Brittany answers. "But it's hard to tell with her."

"So hard." Mike agrees.

"Yeah. She always looks hungry but totally isn't," Brittany tells him.

He tilts his head like he just understood something.

"You know, your height combined with the mixed race thing would ensure you guys have gorgeous babies," Tina says, "and at least your parents support both of you. Jake's mom hates me and my dad hates Jake. It's difficult."

"Actually, Quinn's parents _don't_ like me," Mike corrects Tina. "But their opinion doesn't matter to Quinn so it doesn't matter to me either."

"Yeah, her parents don't like anyone. Aunt Judy came to my wedding and ignored my mom, remember?"

"That was weird. Like, why go to a wedding and then ignore everyone? Just don't _go_." Tina crosses her arms.

"Well, Quinn told me she bragged to her friends about being to a lesbian wedding," Mike said sheepishly.

"That was an amazing day," Brittany's lips quirked into a smile as she recalled her wedding, "Even when Tina threw up on my bouquet."

"I was nervous for you! Anyways, you'd think since me and Jake are both part Jewish our parents would be more understanding," Tina complains, before touching her stomach with a contemplative face. "If we're both half-Jewish, is our kid half-Jewish?"

"Santana's thinking about reaching out to her parents," Brittany tells her friends in confidence. "She asked me to look into it."

"Shit," Mike exhales, "did she see them at the funeral?"

"NO Mike, where have you been?" Tina scolds him, "they weren't there, and Santana has a letter her grandmother wrote for her mom to give her mom. God, don't be insensitive."

Mike pouts, "hey, it's not like I can just _ask_ Santana. I only talk to her about politics. Or music. Sometimes dinosaurs."

"Tina has a Gossip Vagina, didn't you know?" Brittany says, throwing narrowed eyes at Tina in suspicion.

Mike snorts as Tina crosses her arms in offense.

"Your little sister told me."

"Don't be queefing," Brittany smirked at Tina to let her know it was okay, causing the three of them to burst into laughter. It was an old insider of theirs.

/

"Which file again?"

"The blue one."

"You have five blue ones."

"Oh, shoot… um, the light blue one?"

"They're all light blue."

"Crap. It's the one with-"

"You know what, I will just grab all your blue files and be there in twenty… Becky can you _not_ poke-"

Horton hears the phone click and he blinks at the oddly abrupt conversation with his daughter-in-law.

He sighs and throws his blanket off before getting out of the warmth of bed and heading for a quick shower. It wasn't exactly the morning anymore but now that he was in the process of slowly retiring (he was officially semi-retired) it meant cutting down work hours and filtering his clients onto others.

And staying in his pajamas longer than usual.

As a shareholder in his own firm, he got some good money at years end. So did his wife and children. He and Susan were both covered for retirement pretty well as long as their insurance company never fucked up, so he didn't really need to work anymore but did because it kept him busy in his older age.

Being semi-retired was _great_. He could sleep in and take his time, he got to golf more at the country club (which he wasn't doing much now because of a recent slip and fall on ice that still had residual pain up his tailbone), he got to plow through his reading list, and he started watching _Breaking Bad_ which was rather good.

Sometimes, though, things in the house got too quiet. Like today,

Susan was better at keeping herself occupied. She ran volunteering and still did lawyer consulting on the side, and when Sepp had spent his summer vacation with them, Horton and Susan took him to New York for a Broadway show and football game while Santana and Brittany honeymooned. Sepp had been nice company to have in the house despite spending a large amount of time playing video games, he filled the void that opened when Gracie had been house-sitting for the honeymooners. Now she had moved back into the house, but she worked so much they barely saw her and soon she really would be moving into the downtown apartment Santana and Brittany were kindly offering her. The only evidence of her still living with them was the bed she never bothered to make in the morning.

But, he was excited. Because soon he'd be a grandfather.

After he's showered and groomed, he throws on some khakis and a golf shirt and walks downstairs just as Santana is letting herself in through the front door with a stack of blue files in her arms.

She's dressed in a navy blue skirt-suit that fits her like a glove, and Horton unconsciously pats his 'beer belly.' Now that he had extra leisure time, he really needed to get in shape. His wife was in better shape than him and he felt bad. A hot woman deserved at least a man who _tries. _And he wanted to be able to keep up with the baby, too. Be able to play.

Maybe he should ask Santana. She was incredibly good at managing time and she maintained a gym schedule that put everyone he knew who exercised to shame.

"Hey," she nods at him and shuts the door behind her, "sorry about this."

"No it's quite alright, my shorthand is a mess." He walks with her to the kitchen where he takes out two mugs and then asks, "coffee, tea? You hungry?"

"Sure, coffee, thanks," she gives him a smile and then starts opening the files.

"Lot of rushing around today?" He asks for conversation, aware of how difficult it is to get back into work after two months away form personal experience – and she was gone for six.

"Yep, took Lord Tubbington to the vet. He was diagnosed with diabetes," she tells him with an eyebrow raise.

He loves that cat. It felt like just yesterday a younger Brittany was deciding on names through the process of elimination.

"Oh no."

"Two insulin injections timed in the day and he'll be fine," Santana assures him.

He puts the Keurig on for their coffee and then grabs a different file to help search for the one she was looking for.

"This one," he hands her the second one he picks up after reading the footnotes, and then lets out a sigh, "so you're arguing that he's trying to claim previous injuries as damages? I'm not sure if you'll find what you're looking for here, this is old stuff."

"Well, not quite. Opposition will be busy trying to come up with proof that their guy was injured by our client's car – so, yeah, we have a doctor ready to testify on the dates and stuff but I thought I'd just slam it down quickly by proving he _caused_ the accident so he could claim it."

He had long since gotten used to hearing her outlandish theories. They were always right so technically findings, not theories, but how she got her deductions was a mystery to him.

"How on earth did you find that out?"

"His eyes were shifty and irritating to me so I looked him up, turns out they worked in the same building – I'm pretty sure our client doesn't remember something and that guy set him up for it. Revenge or happenstance? I wonder…"

"Ha," he lets out a humourless laugh because in their line of work the answer was almost certainly revenge, and Santana was pretty funny.

"Well, lets go through your _incredibly_ chicken scratchy handwriting to see if my theory can work in court and then you'll see," she's got that confidence that always impressed him, and he turns back to make their coffee. It was fun working cases with her now that she was his daughter-in-law. The office politics were behind them and she was much friendlier when you got to know her beyond the scope.

"Not all of us were blessed with left-hand calligraphy superpowers," is his barb back at her before he clears his throat to start reading out loud his messy, coded notes.

As he reads, Santana listens, giving him a winning smile when his notes reveal their client's courtroom foe was a listed member of the same bowling club.

He had no clue bowling clubs could carry grudges, and this was up there in terms of weird cases.

He makes his daughter-in-law coffee before she leaves, and thinks about how he wants her to take his position as Senior Partner, but he figures he can let that rest a bit longer and tell her at a later date. Ever since Santana's grandmother died, Santana was different. He couldn't put his finger on it, but it was noticeable. As soon as she figured that out, he'd ask.

He made Senior Partner after Gracie was born, and it freed up a lot of his time to spend more time with Gracie and Brittany at home. Sure there were headaches and it was frustrating that his management attempts to thwart the paperclip presence in the office had not been as successful as he hoped – but the laser printer was a hit, so.

/

"Okay, okay, stop crying," Santana's voice snaps with agitation as she walks through the front door.

Brittany stops petting and cooing Lord Tubbington, who turns his head up from the televison in sync with her to where her wife is rolling her eyes at whoever is talking on the phone she has stuck between her ear and shoulder.

Santana is home earlier than usual, doing her routine of removing shoes and coat. Brittany is pleasantly surprised to note her wife, on top of being home at three thirty instead of five thirty, _does_ _not_ have her leather satchel with her.

If she didn't bring any work home, then she didn't have any excuse to distance herself from Brittany like she had been doing ever since her grandmother's funeral.

Maybe they could cuddle. Or have sex. Or just _talk_. Or order pizza.

If Santana played the 'I'm tired' card one more time, Brittany wasn't sure what her reaction would be. It could vary from pouncing on Santana to call her bluff, or letting Lord Tubbington loose on maybe, like, an older pair of her shoes. Like those grey sneakers she never wore anyways.

Santana grabs the phone to pull away from her ear with a cringe before removing her blazer and draping it on the back of the couch. She kisses Brittany's head in passing and then goes to wash her hands in the bathroom.

Brittany drops Lord Tubbington back on the carpet and he nuzzles her legs affectionately before going to the apartment window to watch things.

Santana walks back in with an eye roll and catches Brittany's curious eye. She explains in a hush, "it's Kurt crying about Blaine."

"Who's Blaine?"

"Hell if I know," Santana says to her before speaking to Kurt, "Okay Hummel, that's enough of your boy problems I can handle. Are you and Rachel coming over tonight or not? I got the _Chicago _DVD online."

Brittany hears Kurt's shrill voice ranting, and gives Santana a smirk as Santana sits down next to her after hanging up the phone.

"I was better off when I didn't have friends," Santana says moodily.

Brittany pulls her legs up and sits facing Santana, "why is that?"

"Because Rachel is always trying to bond with me like our periods are in sync, and Kurt thinks I want to hear about his penis problems – like I don't have my own things going on that I need to be hearing about their crap? Can't they just ask how I found the weather, why do they want to bitch and moan?"

She knows that pointing out to Santana that talking about her crap to them in return is an option and 'part of what friends are for' is not what Santana wants to hear, so she doesn't say anything.

"Brittany," Santana looks at her after a self-deprecating headshake, "I… I… _sorry_."

"Why are you sorry for being annoyed with your annoying friends?"

Santana covers her face with her hand and then gives Brittany a pleading look after seeming to collect herself.

Her silence troubles Brittany, but Brittany knows her wife is all over the place emotionally since the funeral.

She didn't want Santana to keep her at arms length anymore. She wanted to help.

"Santana, if you don't talk about your problems with me then who are you going to talk about them to? The psychologist?"

So, yeah, Brittany was jealous of the psychologist. A little. Santana sought him out, paid him for his professional opinion, and yet refused to open up to _her_.

"Well, technically I don't talk to him either. He even gave me a free appointment on the house because he's so damn intrigued with what I refuse to talk about."

Brittany feels her jealousy subside, but is also sad to hear Santana hasn't made progress either. Then again, considering Santana also fell asleep on the couch last night instead of making it to bed, Brittany should have known her wife wasn't making progress.

This whole situation made Brittany felt useless – every hint she tossed Santana's way was promptly ignored.

Santana didn't sleep well these days and spent too much time with a frown on her face in deep thought. She wanted to process and think so Brittany had let her be, but not making it to bed meant it was time to step in and wrestle Santana's comfort zone because that made her feel insecure.

In fact, it wasn't the funeral that seemed to have caused Santana's intimacy allergic reaction – it was the letter Santana's grandmother left her. That stupid thing was why Santana introverted like a turtle retracts its neck.

A letter that read (translated from Spanish):

_Santana, _

_I forgive you, my sweet girl. It was not your fault, it is this world we live in. Please tread careful in life so that one day we may meet again, I was too proud when I was alive but I beg of you to try and transform. I missed you in my last days but I did what was best for you. _

_Abuelita _

Santana had been entirely disappointed with the letter, for obvious reasons. And when Brittany read it all she could surmise was that Alma Lopez had clearly been a miserable soul and a fan of two-syllable words.

"Santana," Brittany reaches out to touch her, rubbing her arm, "you can tell me anything."

Before that letter, Santana _used_ to tell her everything and anything.

"Brittany, I do _not_ want you of all people seeing me be upset," Santana says, her voice surprisingly sharp and dismissive, which Brittany is totally unused to having directed at her.

She doesn't take her hand away though, she makes sure Santana doesn't back away from her gaze and holds her fingers against Santana's bicep.

"I'm married to you – I live with you and I have seen you upset. You won't scare me away."

"Not this kind of upset," Santana turns her head away from her, not willing to maintain eye contact.

Brittany drops her hand, hurt by the words and the attempts of distance.

"I _know_ that. I know the difference between your cramps and your anger, okay?"

Santana looks back at her like she _wants_ to hug her but just can't move. After a stare-off where Brittany refuses to blink, Santana speaks quietly.

"I'm not saying you can't handle it or anything like that, I'm trying to say that I don't like myself right now and I don't want you to see me like this. I'm… ashamed of myself for being weak, okay?"

She knew all this in theory, due to her great intuitive skills and expertise on Santana's moods, but hearing Santana admit shame made Brittany feel her pain. She didn't want her to be in pain.

"You have nothing to be ashamed of, San-"

"It's pathetic! I'm pathetic!"

"Santana," she shifts closer, moving to comfort her with an embrace Santana can't escape – the hug.

Santana melts into her and lets out a sigh of some kind of relief.

"How am I suppose to take care of a child if I can't even take care of this?"

"Changing a diaper is not really fundamentally relatable here," Brittany tells her before hugging her in a little closer.

"I know, but…"

Brittany waits for more, but then Santana's face turns from contrite to angry and Brittany knows that's back at square one.

One step forward, two steps back.

"Listen," Santana says after gently dislodging the cuddle and standing up, "I promise I'll take care of this, okay? I'm going to go take a shower and then we can decide what to order in for dinner before my annoying friends show up."

"Santana-" Brittany says until Santana's lips quickly dive in to cut off her 'let me help.' Then her wife leaves her, grabbing her blazer on the way to the bedroom.

"I suck at this," Brittany mumbles to herself, feeling incompetent.

Santana would get over this eventually, Brittany knew that, it was just…

Brittany couldn't help from feeling insecure and hurt by being sidelined in the looooong process that was Santana using a rug to cover up the giant stain of emotional injury caused by her past stabbing her when her back was turned.

She loved Santana and Santana loved her so… it was her right to be involved. Wedding vows _totally_ backed up her indignation here.

/

"Sorry about your grandmother," Rachel says to Santana. "How are you holding up?"

Brittany rolls her eyes – her back is to the three of them as she yanks the drawer open for the corkscrew. She finds it and slams it into the red wine bottle's top.

"I hadn't spoken to her in years, so I'm fine."

Brittany rolls her eyes again at Santana's words (which were unicorn-shit since Santana was so _not_ fine and they both knew it) and successfully pulls the cork out of the bottle.

When she turns around and makes eye contact with Santana, Santana guiltily looks down. Brittany figures Santana would probably be able to let loose and have actual fun with her friends if Brittany wasn't around as a visual reminder of Santana's pent up frustration with her own lacking emotional availability. Or something.

Whatever. She'd peace out.

"Babe, I'm going to go. See ya Kurt, see ya Rachel, have a nice night." She gives them pleasant smiles and deposits the wine she bought for them all on the kitchen table.

"See ya Britt!" Rachel beams happily at her.

"Bye, thank you for the wine gorgeous!" Kurt waves her off.

Santana gets up and follows her to the bedroom where Brittany grabs her phone and wallet.

"Am I making you mad?" Santana's question is quiet and utterly genuine.

The gesture to indirectly bring up her issues is surprising after how she's been.

Brittany looks at her sadly before walking up to her and cupping her cheek.

"It's more than that."

Santana stares deeply into her eyes, "I know I'm being insufferable and assuming this therapy thing will work out, but, Brittany…I'm so angry inside and I don't want you to see it. Please understand."

"I _do_ understand," Brittany says softly, "that's the frustrating thing. I understand how you are but apparently I can't help you and you won't even talk to me about it."

Santana pulls her into a hug and her voice trembles. "That's because I don't know what to _say_. All I am is angry. It just has to pass."

"What about Lord Tuubington?"

"What about him?"

"He has diabetes because his body doesn't supply enough insulin for his larger size."

"Larger size? Brittany, his belly drags on the ground. And he can't even lick himself properly… or roll over."

Brittany lets her have the dig because it was true.

"His cells can't absorb glucose properly because they don't respond normally to the amounts of insulin produced by his pancreas… this all could have been avoided if he didn't refuse to eat anything except dry food, you know?"

"Brittany– "

"But also, I should have been more involved with his diet and exercise. That makes me at fault, too."

When Kurt and Rachel are heard giggling, Santana's voice catches like she just remembered they weren't exactly alone.

"I should've rescheduled," she leans forward, her forehead against Brittany's and a small smile Brittany hasn't seen in so long reappears.

She places a chaste kiss against Santana's lips before mirroring the smile, "text me when they leave, and then I'll come back, okay?"

"I can kick them out now," Santana offers.

"_No_. Enjoy yourself a little. What is it you dorks are doing tonight again? – singing another harmony of Whitney songs?"

Santana kisses her to cut off her tease and then backs out with, "we're watching _Chicago_, Rachel is preparing for her role in it."

"You can't excuse away the nerd-ay."

Santana laughs, and Brittany feels a whole lot less useless.

"Have fun at Quinn's, love you," Santana says near the door, letting her leave only after a long and sweet kiss.

/

Santana is already dawning her nightgown and curled up on the couch with whatever wine was left when Brittany gets back later that night after eating ice cream with Quinn and Mike (and beating them both in Super Smash Brothers).

Brittany relinquishes her clothes in the bedroom after greeting Santana, and puts on her pajamas before going to see if Santana was going to talk or not.

"What are you putting in?" Brittany sits on the couch, watching Santana get a disc out of the DVD player and replace it with another.

"I ordered some kids shows that were on sale online," Santana tells her. "Might as well make sure they're suitable for children, you know?"

Just like that, Brittany remembers she's pregnant. She knows she is, its not like she forgets, but _remembering_ is more like vividly imaging the outcome.

She pictures Santana holding their baby and she's pretty sure she's never swooned so hard in her life. It makes Santana's nightgown look skimpier than it actually is, and it reminds Brittany that they haven't had sex for twenty-nine days. In other words, way too fucking long.

"This is kind of sketchy packaging," Santana mumbles about the black cover of the DVD case, "it better not be some illegal crap I purchased."

"You're adding to your criminal record," Brittany tugs Santana down to her and they both laugh in memory of the time Santana and Horton got arrested, as production logos start playing on the screen.

Santana lays her head against Brittany's chest and then says in one quick breath, "will you come with me to therapy next week?"

"Of course," Brittany answers back.

Santana's body seems to deflate with relief, "thanks."

The DVD starts playing, and when there's a man seen adjusting the camera's poor quality, Santana's head picks up from Brittany's chest with confusion.

"This isn't Blues Clues…"

Brittany's eyes bulge with doomed understanding because suddenly the man moves out of the way and one can see a naked woman on his bed. It must have gotten lost in the pile of DVDs Santana ordered online.

"Uh oh. You might want to turn this off before you realize-"

/

/

"Okay," Dr. David Martinez, bilingual psychiatrist and winner of 'Best Smile 2008' gives his winning best grin to the two women across from him. "Great to see you again, Santana. Nice to meet you finally, Brittany."

Brittany gives him a nod and Santana clears her throat while shifting a little. He could already tell having Brittany there was a good thing for his client (who usually didn't make any body movement until the session was almost over).

"So, last time we were here we were talking about…" he flips through his notes, "parenting. Santana is a little nervous to become a parent."

"Was. _Was_ nervous," Santana corrects him. "Now I'm beyond terrified."

He has never gotten so far with her before, and gets a little excited.

"Are you not feeling prepared?"

"Nah, I'm completely prepared. I've already purchased everything you need for a baby and kept it stored in a sterile environment until we'll need to get it out when we move into our new house."

Brittany verifies this with a nod.

"That's… not quite what I meant about preparing yourself, but good initiative," Dr. Martinez gives her a nervous smile before looking at Brittany with more observation.

(The result from his observation is that she looks beyond bored to be sitting in his office.)

"Are your nerves settling?"

Santana doesn't say anything, which he figures means 'no.'

He rephrases the question to the other person in the room, "Brittany, do you share any of Santana's nerves?"

"Not really… I mean, she had a nightmare about dropping our baby from a hot air balloon," Brittany says.

"… _Ah_, nerves can implement in the mind and trickle into dream situations," David turns his head back to Santana, "how did this nightmare make you feel?"

"Yeah Santana, how did it feel dreaming about something that will never happen?"

Santana pouts at Brittany's snark and sinks down into the couch a little, "It was just… I know I'm not going on any hot air balloons with a newborn child, but still. I wanted to throw up."

Brittany's face softens and she reaches over to grab Santana's hand.

"The only person who thinks you're going to suck at being a mother is you. The part of you that fears the unknown, which is totally normal. I'm scared too, it's okay that we're scared. It's a big responsibility. But we'll be awesome."

Santana links their fingers together and smiles the first smile he has ever seen her crack.

"I absolutely agree," David says with an enthusiastic nod. "I'm a psychiatrist and I know what kind of person should _not _care for children. You don't fit that category. And, you've been doing a great job with Sepp. He's shown considerable growth, as my colleague Dr. Pillsbury has praised."

"Yep," Brittany says.

David shares a look with her and her face doesn't change much, but there's a kinder look towards him in her eyes like she thinks he's surprisingly helpful. He doesn't take offense, he's just glad to be able to help a patient.

"It's different though," Santana says looking at Brittany now as opposed to him, "Sepp already knew how to walk, talk, eat – how to go to the bathroom! All I did was help him get justice."

"You give him dignity and you're his number one role model."

"But a baby knows none of those things and I have to _teach_ them - they will depend on me for everything!"

"Well, yeah," Brittany says. "WE are in this together. Unless one of us has a tragic death… or both of us, then we have to pick from a hat who gets custody. My parents, Quinn and Mike, or celibate Gracie are all great options."

"That's… morbid," David looks at Brittany with wide eyes.

Santana reaches into her hair and combs her fingers through her side part nervously, "she was being _funny._ We like to keep things real, we came up with a contingency for everything—that doesn't make us crazy. I took midwife classes in case I need to perform a natural birth on her, like if there's a power outage and we're stuck in a barn or something. There's a one point three percent chance of that happening."

"Technically I'd be the one _performing_ the natural birth in that scenario," Brittany says.

"So, Santana e-mailed me last week to let me know she requested you come to this appointment. She wants to share her apprehension about parenting-"

Brittany rolls her eyes and ignores him before turning to Santana, "I can only find it endearing that you're nervous about becoming a mother for so long before I tell you to get over it, babe. Part of the experience is experiencing."

"You say it like it's so easy, but you think the way _you_ think and I have my own imagination that fucks with me" Santana implores Brittany's soothing tone with her own stubborn plead before turning back to David, "we agreed to show her. Show her."

Sighing at his client's dramatics, David reaches over for a thick white binder and places it on the coffee table in front of Brittany where it slams down in a heavy thud.

"And that is?" Brittany asks monotonously.

"My anger management notes. Compiled by _all_ of my anger management counselors. What you said last night about the diabetes got me thinking, and…" Santana toys with the end of the couch cushion and sighs, "I know I've told you about it but that's a lot of paper and if we're going to be parenting together I felt you should read it through so that _you_ know what exactly you're co-parenting with."

David is lost with what exactly diabetes has to do with it.

Brittany stares at it but doesn't touch it. She's upset that Santana would think her anger management dalliances defined her like this, when she was so much more than those files.

Eventually, she speaks "Is there a detailed account of your subway attack on that guy? Your version of the story is anticlimactic and I've always been curious…"

"Britt," Santana smiles, her body releasing some tension but her eyes still a gateway of shame at what was in that binder.

Brittany still doesn't move to read the binder, she just crosses her legs and then speaks seriously, "I understand why I was brought here today, but Santana… you're kind of avoiding the real issue."

"And I agree with Brittany," David chimes in.

Santana's jaw clenches and she looks at David like he's intruding on something private but he gives her a reassuring nod as Brittany continues.

"You told me yourself you haven't made progress and you brought me here to help. You told me you were ashamed of feeling angry again and I think the progress you want to make won't really happen if you keep on looking at that binder."

"Yeah but, I also don't want to hurt you, Brittany, and you deserve to know what kind of anger we're dealing with here. I have rage. I'm not just upset over that letter – I'm _boiling_ with hate and it's not very pretty. It's affecting…"

Brittany's jaw clenches, knowing that Santana wanted to say 'us' but didn't want to talk about their sex life in this setup.

"Hm," David leans back and suddenly understands an entire new dimension to his patient's hesitance of parenting. "So Santana, you think this renewed anger you're feeling will make you fail as a parent?"

"Duh."

"Brittany?"

Brittany is comfortable with the doctor's professionalism to talk with him present– in fact she appreciates the gesture that Santana made to discuss her concerns considering the lengths Santana has taken to 'protect' Brittany from them.

It was unrealistic to think their intimacy was untouchable and immune to obstacles. Intimacy had to be maintained and worked on, and to keep it strong they needed to work through this, together.

She was done letting Santana pretend her fear of parenting was her anger. The anger existed, but there was a reason and the reason was a dead, letter-leaving grandmother.

Santana could apparently confess her scale of ire but not the woman who reset it? It was a spousal duty to call one another's bullshit, right?

"Has Santana told you her grandmother made her watch birthing videos at a young age to traumatize the thought of underage sex out of her?"

Santana sits upright from the new angle Brittany has brought into the conversation.

David whistles lowly, looking astounded. That explained a hell of a lot.

"No I didn't tell him that," Santana gives in, "but I did tell him that other thing. About my parents."

"Oh, right," David leans back. "You're considering finding them?"

Santana cringes and then tells him, "it gets worse, I already decided to find them and asked Brittany and…"

"I found them." Brittany explains, "specifically, their sex tape."

David's face is understandably scandalized.

"Well, like, I asked Britt to check into finding them because she traced my lineage all the way back eight generations once. She's good at that stuff."

"Yeah. And I figured that was the first clue to start— the sex tape. So, I found it and ordered it because her parents sold it to a porn distributor company, but the company refuses to divulge personal information so I figured if I saw her dad's face maybe I could go from there to figure out who he is. So I bought it. It was only five dollars."

"But I thought it was the Blues Clues I pre-ordered in the mail for the upcoming baby so I was going to review it to make sure it was child safe, you know, only to start watching it and realize… just… I can't even…"

Brittany sighs sadly, and pats her wife's hand while telling David, "it wasn't even the good kind of porn… "

David was _very_ sympathetic for his patient. After some awkward silence, he tries to continue the dialogue, "So you're committed to finding your parents then? Last we spoke you seemed hesitant."

"I have a letter to deliver," Santana reasons. "That's all."

"You're a grown woman, Santana, but I think this is a good attempt to make a more conclusive communicative gesture… especially if you're preparing for a baby. That should help heal a lot of the small fears you have that build up and fester into hot air balloon nightmares."

"That's what I figured, right?" Santana says with her hands held up before dropping them with agitation, "but the results are not as comforting as I hoped."

"You've already reached out?" David asks.

"Brittany matched the face of my-" she raises her hands for air quotes, "—father-" and then drops her arms, "-to my high school yearbook archives where my mom went."

"I take it you are disappointed?"

"I'd say that was accurate. The name belongs to a duded with PRISON records because _apparently_ he's been in and out a few times."

"You may find yourself pleased or disappointed with the results, of course, but closure is an underrated healing practice," he says. "Did you look further?"

"Brittany found out where he works. Which is here, in this very city. Small fucking world."

"And the mother?" he asks Brittany, curious to know more. Brittany doesn't say anything.

"I'm not sure I want to meet either of them. Frankly, I don't have high standards for what Brittany manages to dig up on the estranged mother as well, my number one guess is she stuck to the porn industry."

Brittany awkwardly shifts – she already found out about Santana's mother too but she hadn't shared it with Santana yet because of Santana's reaction to finding out her father was in the city, living as an ex-con mechanic – especially after they joked about her arrest.

All Brittany's detective work did was fuel Santana's conspiracy theory that she was doomed to fail in child rearing, so Brittany took this opportunity to speak out.

"They were never around to raise you, why do you think they'd influence how you are as a mother?"

"Because, Brittany, they weren't around and I'm still _judging_ them and I'm disappointed with them. What if I fuck up or fail and our kid judges me – hates me? _Resents_ me?"

Santana's answer is surprisingly insightful and Brittany understands because those are some fears of parenting she has herself.

David looks between them, watching the conversation they seem to be having with their eyes.

"This has been a very productive session," he intervenes, bringing their attention back to him. "Is there anything else you want to discuss?"

Santana shakes her head, "nope."

"Well," Brittany looks down at her lap and says nonchalantly, "there's the letter. That's the root problem here."

"The letter Santana's Abuela wrote?"

"Great session," Santana stands up right then, "We need to go now, though, so we'll just – yeah. The cat, remember?"

Brittany tugs her back down with a warm smile to keep her on track, "baby, come on… we're actually getting somewhere now. And, Lord Tubbington will be fine until three. Just try?"

Santana looks at David with pleading eyes.

"Santana… I know this might be hard but, you're much more responsive with Brittany around then you usually are, I mean this one session alone covered more than all of your sessions combined… and for _your_ own good I'd like to take advantage of that and see if we can't make some real progress today with the time we have left."

"Fine," she crosses her arms.

"I think you've put these things aside and it's time for you to confront them. How do you feel about becoming aware of your parents?"

"Pissed off."

"Yet you asked Brittany to look into them, you must have known deep down you were curious enough to learn about what became of them... How do you feel knowing your dad is in this city?"

"I'm pissed off."

David sighs.

"How about we discuss the letter. Maybe there's something you want to say to your abuela but never got the chance?"

"She pissed me off."

"Brittany?"

"Well, the letter pissed me off too," Brittany says unapologetically.

"There ya go," Santana tells him.

"Why are you pissed off?" He asks Santana.

She looks reluctant to reveal why, and it's marginally tragic enough that David really feels for her as she grinds her teeth and scowls.

"Sweetie," Brittany says gently.

Santana shakes her head, looking back at the thick binder of her anger management.

This time when she looks at it she doesn't get mad at herself for it's existence, she gets mad at her circumstances surrounding the very first time she lashed out. Being kicked out.

"So… my Abuela died. On my birthday."

There's some silence and Santana breathes out through her nose heavily.

"It happened and that's… I mean she was getting old and had a love for red meat and butter. But, the thing is, we went to her funeral and I guess I started to feel a lot of anger I had never allowed myself to consider before. How could she just… shut me out like that? I let her get away with it because I didn't know any better but now I know better. Now I have Sepp and a baby on the way but… there were these people who were supposed to be there for me - Abeula was supposed to love me anyway, even if she didn't agree with my sexuality, and _she_ failed at that simple thing and I just don't want to fail like that. I _can not_ fail at this because I see how much I already love that baby and I've grown to love Sepp, and I just do not _understand_ how that woman or that man walked away from me if they felt even a little bit of what I feel now... It was easy to forget about them when they were never there. But now? Now I know they exist somewhere and I am curious to know what made them leave me and never look back because I… I _never_ could. How could you leave like that when you have a child? So I was their sex-tape accident, so what? They may not have asked for it to happen but _fuck_ them for being cowards. And fuck Abuela, too. How could she raise me and then tell me to never come back because I was being _true_ to myself? She raised me to be genuine and not let anybody fuck you over but she decided my genuine self was reason to fuck me over? How could she just stop loving me and let me fend for my own in a world I wasn't ready for? You're supposed to protect your child – I'm not even holding one yet and I know that! How could she put more faith in a fucking CULT - that has _no_ business pretending it's a church - over _me_! They preyed on her loneliness and stole her from me so fuck them too! _I_ was her family and she abandoned me and then just goes and dies? She wrote me sixty-five words. SIXTY-FIVE WORDS of UTTER CRAP that have no meaning to anything we've been through. She forgives me? Well I DO NOT forgive her. She did _not_ do what was best for me. She failed _me_ and I should not feel guilty about not reaching out to her."

Santana sucks in a breath after her long tirade and then looks at Brittany miserably, "why do I feel guilty for not reaching out to her?"

"Because you're forgiving and generous," Brittany tells her.

Santana lets out a disbelieving laugh.

"And that does not make you weak," Brittany adds, with enough conviction that it seems to make the light behind Santana's eyes reappear.

A tear escapes from the corner of Santana's eye and she wipes it away with a finger before it can properly fall, squaring her shoulders upright.

"You have quite the way with words," David finally says.

"Debate champion and lawyer extraordinaire," Santana shrugs.

The room is heavy with the fuckton of resentment Santana unloaded, but Santana's posture is already visibly lighter.

"How about we stop here for now. There's five minutes left but my stomach is growling. Same time next week?" He offers.

"Same time next week," Santana nods. "Gracias, Dr. Martinez."

"Bye," Brittany waves goodbye at the doctor before they leave the room.

They approach the elevator and Brittany is not surprised with the words Santana shared in there. They all make perfect sense in her opinion, and she's pleased to see that talking about it actually worked – evident by the exponentially lower amount of fury Santana had after her rant.

The elevator doors open and Brittany is startled from her thoughts when Santana grabs her hand to hold and tug her inside. She gently brushes her thumb along Santana's knuckles for comfort as they go down a few floors to the main level of the building.

"Listen," Santana tells her, lovingly in a whisper after they exit the elevator. They're now standing outside the gym entrance – the place they first laid eyes on each other.

"Listening."

"I know I haven't been really… performing in the bedroom-"

Brittany was not expecting Santana to outright go _there_ even though, yeah, there has been zero sex for a while. It sucked, sure, but she had cared more about Santana's temperament and stress than her vagina. She had her priorities.

"—but it's not you. I mean, _duh_, obviously. It's… I was…" Santana rolls her eyes at herself, "I felt really unsexy, and I didn't want to be angry during sex… that felt like I'd be insulting what we have together."

"Santana, I understand."

"Thank you for being patient with me, anyways," Santana leans in close, "for taking care of me… and for pushing me to open up – I can't believe I'm saying this but talking about it did feel good."

"_Honey_," Brittany kisses her cheek and hugs her by the shoulders tightly, "you are everything to me, at least until our child bumps you down to my number two. You don't need to thank me, it's the least I can do."

Santana laughs into her ear and then presses her face down into Brittany's neck where she leaves a small, precious kiss.

"More than that though," she whispers a moment later, leaning back to admire Brittany's face with her brown eyes. "I have never felt more special or loved than when I'm with you-"

Brittany feels her cheeks starts to heat up and her face melts with bashfulness as her eyes dart down shyly.

"—and I am an idiot for not sharing with you sooner because it could have saved me from that hot air balloon nightmare."

They share a laugh, and Brittany leans forward for a kiss because Santana was in a better place and sometimes she just wanted to kiss her wife's lovely lips, okay?

The kiss soon takes a deeper turn, and Brittany feels Santana's fingers sneak up the waistline of her shirt.

"I love you so much," Santana whispers after their lips separate just so, "how about we go home and I show you?"

Brittany may or may not have let out an embarrassingly turned on noise.


End file.
